36  4  K 


A  DARK  NIGHT'S  WORK 


BY 

PAUL  1NGELOW. 


COPYRIGHT,  1S92,  MELBOURNE  PUBLISHING  C^ 


CHICAGO 

THE   HENNEBF.RRY   COMPANY 
554  WAB/.EH  AVENUE 


A  DARK  NIGHTS  WORK. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  HOUR  AND  THE  MAN. 

"HARK!" 

A  tempest  of  summer  rain  had  been  sweep- 
ing hill,  valley  and  dale. 

Then  the  sun  had  come  out,  bursting  from 
the  fleecy  clouds  like  a  bright,  joyous  being 
bent  on  a  race  across  blue  meadows. 

From  every  tree  and  bush  a  million  glitter- 
ing drops  of  rain  hung,  swaying,  scintillating, 
flashing  like  pendant  diamonds. 

And  now,  from  the  shelter  he  had  sought 
among  a  clump  of  elders,  a  man  stepped  into 
view,  the  only  human  being  visible  on  this 
grand  alternating  panorama  of  nature. 

In  face,  build  and  attire,  he  was  so  com- 
pletely in  harmony  with  the  sun-jeweled  land- 
scape, that,  as  he  stood  surveying  its  beauties 
with  the  eyes  of  a  dreamer,  he  seemed  a 
sentient  part  of  it. 


2136179 


8 

His  garb  was  that  of  a  tourist  or  artist 
bent  on  an  outing,  for  which  he  had  selected 
attire  comfortable,  appropriate,  yet  neat. 

It  fitted  his  athletic  form  till  the  well-built 
muscles  showed  swelling  and  rounded  with 
health  and  vitality. 

The  light  cap  surmounted  a  brow  broad, 
intellectual,  yet  bronzed  with  exposure  to  the 
summer  sun. 

Beneath  it  flashed  eyes  poetic,  earnest, 
yet  active,  subdued  to  tenderness  as  they 
took  in  the  dreamy  glories  of  nature,  yet 
susceptible  of  expressing  vivid  emotion  when 
the  heart  was  deeply  stirred. 

The  chin  was  narrow,  yet  set,  the  mouth, 
sympathetic,  yet  firm,  and,  altogether,  the 
striking  combination  of  gravity  and  gentle- 
ness, resolution  and  tenderness,  calculation 
and  purity,  method  and  dreaminess,  evinced 
that  their  possessor  was  a  remarkable  man. 

His  light  tennis-shoes  showed  preparation 
for  tedious  tramps,  and  were  travel-worn  and 
dusty.  Across  his  shoulder  ran  a  strap  se- 
cured to  an  oblong  case.  Hanging  to  it,  too, 
was  what  resembled  a  small  portable  photo- 
graphic camera. 

He  had  paused  as  he  stepped  from  shelter 


9 

to  enjoy  momentarily  the  glories  of  hill,  field 
and  valley  spread  before  him  like  a  painter's 
canvas,  and  to  drink  in  the  deep,  exhilarating 
draught  of  the  fresh,  cool  air,  when,  with  a 
start,  he  bent  his  ear,  and,  a  rapt  expression 
on  his  fine  face,  he  uttered  the  quick,  invol- 
untary word  — 

"Hark!" 

If  his  eye  had  before  shown  the  ardor  of  a 
true  artist  in  his  survey  of  the  smiling  land- 
scape, it  now  glowed  with  the  eager  appre- 
ciation of  a  true  musician. 

For  the  divine  trinity  of  pure  pleasure  was 
completed,  golden  light,  glowing  nature,  and 
now  seraphic  melody. 

Birds  were  singing,  but  it  was  not  their 
sweet  notes,  clear  and  resonant  as  silver 
beads  dropped  into  a  crystal  dish,  that  en- 
tranced him. 

A  near  waterfall  trickled  over  the  rocks 
with  a  swinging  murmur  of  harmony,  the  soft 
zephyrs  swayed  the  pines  to  the  rhythm  of 
/Eolian  melody,  but  these  sounds  were 
drowned  in  a  full,  glorious  burst  of  magnifi- 
cent song. 

Like  one  held  in  the  thrall  of  the  most  ex- 


IO 

quisite   pleasure,    the    young    man    listened 
enrapt. 

"  Help  some  soul  its  strength  renew, 
As  the  journey  we  pursue, 
Oh  !  the  good  we  all  may  do, 
While  the  days  are  passing  by  ! " 

The  words  rang  out  clear  and  echoing, 
every  quivering  leaf  seemed  to  vibrate  with 
them  —  the  golden,  lute-like  voice  that  pro- 
nounced them  seemed  to  be  too  seraphic  to 
be  human.  Well  might  he  listen !  Well 
might  the  scintillating  rain-drops  throb 
and  jar  in  consonance  with  the  noble  song 
that  filled  air,  heart  and  senses  as  if  thrilled 
from  the  lips  of  a  famous  diva  ! 

"  Is  the  wood  enchanted  ?  " 

The  stranger  asked  himself  the  question  in 
a  subdued  tone,  as  if  fearful  of  breaking  a 
spell  of  magic. 

Then,  with  wistful  eyes  and  eager  steps, 
he  stole  along  the  path  leading  to  a  copse, 
from  whence  or  beyond  which  had  certainly 
emanated  that  full,  clear  burst  of  glorious 
melody. 

He  penetrated  the  little  belt  of  timber. 
The  forest  nymph  was  nowhere  in  sight. 
Approaching  its  other  edge,  however,  he 
drew  back  suddenly,  warily. 


II 

The  fair  one  stood  revealed.  If  the 
song-  had  enchanted  the  traveler,  the  singer 
held  heart,  interest  and  glance  under  a  new 
spell  of  witchery. 

Where  some  wild  vines  formed  a  kind  of 
canopy,  she  lingered,  as  if  there  she  had 
taken  temporary  refuge  from  the  passing 
shower. 

Dreamy  influences  about  her,  pure  emo- 
tions awakened  by  the  happy  voices  of  nat- 
ure, her  soul  had  found  expression  for  its 
thoughts,  ambitions  and  aspirations  in  that 
song  of  praise  and  hope. 

Her  face  was  perfect,  her  form  rounded  to 
the  symmetry  of  a  Niobe.  Only  the  eyes, 
half  veiled  with  dewy  sadness,  told  that  she 
was  other  than  some  happy  maiden,  content 
to  wander  forever  amid  the  budding  beauties 
of  field  and  forest. 

"What  a  picture!'" 

The  stranger  breathed  the  words  soft  and 
low.  If  his  eyes  expressed  admiration  of 
the  lovely  face,  that  ardor  was  tempered  with 
the  quick,  artistic  sense  that  proclaimed  him 
to  be  a  true  poet  and  dreamer. 

"I  must  catch  that  face  —  the  scene,  its 
surroundings,"  he  went  on,  eagerly.  "Nat- 


12 

ure,  beauty,  art — if  she  will  only  keep  that 
pose  for  another  moment!" 

His  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  her,  the  stran- 
ger deftly  slipped  the  smaller  box  from  the 
strap  across  his  shoulder. 

He  removed  its  canvas  covering,  revealing 
as  he  did  so  a  neat  photographic  camera, 
provided  with  catch,' slides,  focus  adjustments 
and  automatic  shutter  for  ready  manipulation. 

Leaning  it  against  a  gnarled,  stout  vine,  he 
got  a  perfect  focus  on  the  bower,  the  girl  and 
her  immediate  surroundings. 

The  back  of  the  case  came  into  view  as  he 
did  so.  Across  the  black  surface,  in  plain 
white  letters,  was  painted  a  name — his  name 
—  for  identification  of  the  camera,  to  protect 
it  from  loss  or  theft. 

It  read: 


JERA  LE  BRITTA, 

PHOTOGRAPHER. 


His  finger  ready  to  snap  the  catch  that 
should  open  the  shutter  and  time  the  expos- 
ure, the  artist  started. 

With   slight  excitement  he  peered  at  the 


13 

girl  and  beyond  her,   a  little  gasp  of  alarm 
escaping  his  lips. 

For  something  unexpected  had  happened, 
that,  in  later  moments  of  his  life,  he  was  to 
realize,  trivial  as  it  was,  should  change  the 
current  of  many  careers,  and  render  this  a 
most  portentous  hour  in  his  young  destiny. 

The  hour  was  a  potent  one  —  he  was  to 
know  that  soon — yes,  fate  had  precipitated 
a  strange  climax  on  that  smiling  landscape, 
and  "the  hour  and  the  man'  had  arrived  ! 

Startled,  as  has  been  said,  by  a  somewhat 
unexpected  and  remarkable  occurrence,  the 
artist  was  still  intent  on  securing  a  picture  of 
the  fair  scene  and  the  fair  being  who  filled  it, 
at  all  hazards. 

His  deft  fingers  touched  the  button  of  the 
camera. 

Click ! 


CHAPTER  II. 
FALCON  AND  DOVE. 

CLICK  ! 

The  work  was  done  !  The  little  shutter 
lifted,  hung  suspended  for  a  flashing  moment 
of  time,  and  then  shot  back  into  place,  hold- 


14 

.  ing  its  precious  secret  safe  on   the  sensitive 
plate  within  the  slide. 

A  stroke  of  marvelous  art  had  caught  the 
scene  in  a  flash,  had  chronicled  its  every  out- 
line, and  the  picture  of  the  fair  girl  was  the 
reward  of  the  dexterity  of  the  artist. 

Something  besides,  too  !  —  the  excited 
artist  knew  that  —  and  instantly  his  mind 
recurred  to  the  extraordinary  and  unexpected 
occurrence  that  had  disturbed  him. 

For,  just  as  that  ominous  click  sounded,  a 
baleful  presence  had  appeared  to  mar  the  fair 
scene. 

From  the  dense  shrubbery  at  the  side  of 
the  bower  of  vines  a  human  face  had  come 
suddenly,  startlingly  into  view. 

The  artist  had  seen  it  ;  he  realized  its  dis- 
turbing effect  upon  an  otherwise  placid 
scene,  but,  fearful  that  the  young  girl  gazing 
dreamily  at  the  beautiful  landscape  might 
observe  it  too,  and  change  her  pose,  he  shot 
the  shutter  at  once. 

To  the  intruder,  Jera  Le  Britta  now  trans- 
ferred his  attention. 

There  was  something  sinister  in  the  actions 
of  the  new-comer.  His  face  was  that  of  a  man 
malignant,  hate-filled,  venomous. 


15 

Dressed  like  a  tramp,  there  was  something 
in  his  glittering  eyes  and  handsome  though 
evil  face,  that  proclaimed  his  garb  to  be  .a 
disguise. 

He  wore  a  green,  broad  shade  over  one 
eye,  and  this  disfigured,  almost  concealed  his 
features.  He  had  lifted  it  to  bestow  one 
quick,  searching  glance  on  the  girl,  but  low- 
ered it  instantly  afterward. 

The  girl  had  not  moved.  She  was  all  un- 
conscious of  the  proximity  of  the  artist,  of 
the  sinister  cynosure  of  the  tramp. 

The  latter,  never  taking  his  glance  from 
her  face,  slowly  and  cautiously  extricated  him- 
self from  the  entangling  vines  that  formed  a 
barrier  between  himself  and  the  bower. 

The  artist  drew  nearer  to  the  edge  of  the 
wood.  There  was  much  in  the  appearance 
of  the  intruder  that  suggested  the  slimy  ser- 
pent bent  on  decoying  and  charming  the  shy, 
innocent  dove.  Le  Britta's  suspicious  in- 
stincts were  aroused,  his  keenest  sense  of 
chivalry,  too,  and  he  determined  to  watch 
and  await  the  outcome  of  the  scene,  that  held 
in  its  very  incipiency  all  the  elements  of  a 
strange  and  weird  plot. 

What  had  guided  his  steps  hither?     Fate! 


i6 

The  girl  probably  resided  in  some  of  tlw 
pretty  villas  that  lined  the  green  slopes  half' 
a-mile  distant.  The  man  might  be  a  thieving 
tramp,  but  his  actions  indicated  some  dee;/ 
motive  in  studying  the  girl  ere  he  approached 
her. 

The  artist  observed  him  steal  noiselessly 
toward  her.  Had  the  glittering  gold  bracelet 
on  the  girl's  arm  aroused  the  cupidity  of  his 
thieving  instincts?  No  ;  a  few  feet  distant 
from  the  object  of  his  interest,  the  tramp 
came  to  an  abrupt  halt. 

He  had  stepped  on  a  dry  twig,  and  its 
crackling  had  startled  the  girl.  Rapid  as  a 
flash  she  turned.  Quick  as  lightning  the 
tramp  dropped  to  an  attitude  of  the  most 
abject  servility,  with  bent  face  and  extended 
hand,  assuming  the  pose  and  bearing  of  a 
professional  mendicant. 

The  girl  was  startled,  more,  frightened. 
She  uttered  a  little  cry  of  alarm,  shrank 
back,  gazed  wildly  about  her,  as  if  bent  on 
speeding  precipitately  from  the  spot,  and 
then,  quivering  with  timidity  and  dread,  she 
gasped  incoherently  : 

"  Who  are  you  ?     What  do  want  ?  " 

The  man   whined  out  some  unintelligible 


words.  The  girl,  her  hand  crossed  nervously 
over  her  palpitating  heart,  seemed  to  strive 
to  regain  her  composure. 

Jera  Le  Britta,  a  spell-bound  spectator  of 
the  scene,  saw  the  tramp's  shaded  eyes  glow 
from  beneath  the  impromptu  mask  he  wore 
like  those  of  a  baleful  basilisk. 

"Oh!  is  it  alms?"  murmured  the  fair 
maiden  in  a  gentle,  pitying  tone.  "  You 
look  poor,  hungry,  tired.  Here,  I  have  not 
much.  You  are  welcome  to  that." 

She  drew  forth  a  tiny,  jeweled  purse.  Her 
ringers  trembled  as  she  extended  the  few 
coins  that  it  contained. 

The  tramp  edged  nearer.  His  great  rough 
hand  closed  over  the  coins  and  her  dainty 
fingers  as  well.  She  shuddered  and  drew 
back,  for  it  was  evident  that  the  man  had 
made  slow  work  of  securing  the  money,  in 
order  to  take  a  keen,  sweeping  survey  of  her 
features. 

"Thanks!"  he  grated  forth,  hoarsely. 
"Tell  me,  lady,  though,  your  name  ?  " 

"My  name?"  repeated  the  girl,  flushing 
indignantly.  "  Why  should  I  do  that?" 

"  So  I  can  remember  my  kind  benefactress." 

So  palpable  a  sneer  was  manifest  in  the 


i8 

accents,  that  the  girl  started  with  suspicious 
dislike  and  positive  alarm. 

With  quiet  dignity,  however,  she  bestowed 
a  cold  look  on  her  pensioner,  and  said  : 

"My  name  cannot  be  of  any  interest  to 
you,  and  I  do  not  care  to  publish  a  trifling 
charity." 

"  But  I  want  to  know  !  " 

Of  a  sudden  the  tramp's  bearing  changed. 
He  arose  from  his  crouching  attitude  of  mock 
servility. 

Aggressive,  insolent,  threatening,  he 
blocked  her  way,  as  she  uttered  a  cry  of 
alarm. 

"  And  I  will  know ! "  he  blustered. 
"  Charity  ?  Bah  !  Take  back  your  gold, 
scatter  it  to  the  pauper  brats  down  at  the 
almshouse.  Keep  it,  and  may  it  sink  you 
and  all  about  you,  but  you  tell  me  what  I 
want  to  know  before  I  leave  this  spot,  or  you 
either,  my  proud  lady  !  " 

With  a  scornful  swing  of  his  hand,  the 
tramp  had  flung  the  money  in  his  grasp  dis- 
dainfully on  the  ground  at  the  feet  of  his 
astounded  almoner. 

Now,  coming  nearer  to  her,  he  hissed : 

"I'd  know  that  face   from  a  picture  I  saw. 


19 

I've  watched  you  and  saw  you  come  from 
Hawthorne  villa.  You  are  Gladys  Vernon." 
.  The  girl  grew  pale.  Her  eyes  told  that 
the  man  had  made  a  correct  conjecture. 

"If  I  am,"  she  faltered,  "what  is  that  to 
you  ?" 

"  You  shall  see.  If  you  are  Gladys  Ver- 
non, you  are  the  niece  of  old  Gideon  Vernon. 
It's  not  you  I  care  to  know  about.  I  can 
guess  that  you  have  been  lucky  enough  to  be 
adopted  as  the  favorite  of  that  crotchety  old 
miser,  but  there's  some  questions  about  him 
I'm  going  to  ask,  and  you're  going  to  answer." 

The  girl's  face  had  grown  steadily  whiter. 
Defiance,  fear,  played  alternately  across  her 
colorless  features. 

Le  Britta,  about  to  spring  forward  and 
relieve  her  from  the  presence  and  distressing 
importunities  of  the  insolent  intruder,  re- 
strained himself,  as  some  intuitive  instinct 
told  him  that  the  man's  later  actions  might 
reveal  his  motive  in  thus  interrogating  her, 
and  afford  her  friends  a  clue  to  his  designs. 

"First,"  announced  the  man,   "I  want  to 
know  if  old  Vernon  is  not  pretty  near  used 
up." 
•  "  My  uncle  is  quite  ill,"  spoke  the  girl,  icily. 


2O 

"  Good  !  He'd  ought  to  die  !  "  was  the 
heartless  rejoinder.  "  Now  then,  has  he 
altered  his  will  lately  ?  " 

The  tramp  fairly  hissed  the  words.  So  in- 
tense was  his  malignity  of  expression,  that 
Miss  Gladys  Vernon  recoiled  with  a  cry  of 
terror. 

"I  will  not  tell  you.  You  are  some  vil- 
lain seeking  to  learn  his  secrets,  to  do  him 
harm.  Release  me  !  help  !  help  !  help  !  " 

For  the  villain  had  seized  her  white, 
shapely  wrists  in  his  brutal  grasp. 

"You  shall  tell  me!"  he  glowered, 
fiercely.  "  Quick !  Has  he  changed  his 
will  ?  Speak  !  I  will  know  !  " 

"  You  scoundrel,  lie  there  !  " 

Smack  ! 

The  man  who  could  paint  pictures,  and 
write  poetry,  and  dream  over  sunny  land- 
scapes, could  fight,  as  well. 

All  the  chivalry  in  his  energetic  nature 
aroused,  Jera  Le  Britta  had  sprung  forward. 

His  good  right  arm  shot  out  like  a  piston 
rod. 

His  sinewy  fist  landed  squarely  between 
the  eyes  of  the  insolent  boor  before  him. 

And  the  next  moment,  as  the  fair  young 


21 

girl  clung  frantically  to  the  photographer's 
free  arm  for  support,  the  trampish  knave 
who  had  insulted  her,  measured  his  length 
on  the  ground  at  her  feet. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A    STARTLING    RECOGNITION. 

JERA  LE  BRITTA  was  a  practical  man,  and 
had  led  a  prosaic  life.     That  is,  only  senti- 
ment and  a  love  for  the  artistic  had  been  thi- 
main  diversity  in    his    existence   from    plod 
ding,  everyday  routine. 

The  hour  for  action  had  arrived,  however, 
and  he  was  not  found  lacking.  A  gentleman, 
a  friend  to  distress  wherever  found,  his  heart 
had  responded  like  magic  to  the  call  of 
beauty  unprotected. 

The  tableau  that  ensued  to  his  speedy 
interference  in  the  scene  at  the  wild-vine 
bower,  was  a  dramatic  one.  His  fine  face 
aglow  with  indignation  and  resolve,  he  formed 
a  fitting  companion  for  the  innocent  girl,  who 
trustingly  recognized  him  as  a  valued  pro- 
tector, and  a  striking  contrast  to  the  enraged 
and  discomfited  boor  at  his  feet. 


22 

"Leave!"  he  ordered,  making  a  second  ad- 
vance toward  the  prostrate  ruffian,  but  Miss 
Vernon  interposed  a  restraining  hand. 

"  You  have  punished  him  enough,"  she 
faltered,  tremulously.  "  Let  him  depart  in 
peace." 

"Peace!"  snorted  the  tramp,  struggling  to 
his  feet  and  scowling  frightfully.  "  I'll  show 
you,  my  haughty  lady.  You,  too,  you  inso- 
lent interferer.  I'll" 

"  Go,  if  you  are  wise !  "  ordered  Le  Britta, 
warningly. 

With  a  malevolent  scowl,  the  subdued 
knave  shrank  from  the  spot. 

"Do  not  tremble  so,  you  are  safe  now," 
spoke  the  photographer  to  his  companion. 

"He  frightened  me!"  quavered  the  girl, 
apprehensively.  "  He  hinted  at  such  dread- 
ful things  about  uncle !  He  has  threatened 
even  you !  " 

Le  Britta  smiled  confidently. 

"  He  will  do  wisely  to  keep  out  of  my  path 
in  the  future,"  he  said.  "And  now,  Miss 
Vernon  " — : — 

"  What !  You  know  my  name  ?  "  said  the 
girl,  with  surprise. 

"  I  was  a  witness  to  your  interview  with 


23 

that  malignant  scoundrel,"  explained  the  art- 
ist. "From  his  lips  I  learned  your  name. 
You  reside  near  here?" 

She  pointed  across  the  valley,  to  a  preten- 
tious mansion  gleaming  white  and  massive 
among  the  trees  on  the  other  slope. 

"  I  live  with  my  uncle,"  she  murmured, 
"and  I  must  hasten  home.  He  will  be  anx- 
ious about  me.  I  had  been  to  the  village  on 
an  errand,  was  caught  in  the  shower,  and 
sought  shelter  here." 

"And  joined  the  birds  in  singing  a  bright 
welcome  to  the  returning  sunshine?"  re- 
marked Le  Britta. 

The  young  girl  flushed  with  embarrass- 
ment. 

"  You  heard  me,"  she  faltered. 

'  That  song  led  me  to  you,"  replied  the 
photographer.  "  One  moment,  Miss  Vernon, 
till  I  secure  my  traps,  and  I  will  accompany 
you  on  your  way." 

"Oh!  I  could  not  think  of  troubling  you," 
she  said. 

"It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me,  perhaps  a 
protection  to  you,"  responded  Le  Britta. 
'  That  scoundrel  may  seek  to  trouble  you 
again." 


24 

"But  he  has  disappeared." 

"  Perhaps  only  temporarily.  I  do  not  wish 
to  needlessly  alarm  you,  but  that  man  is  no 
tramp." 

"Then"- 

"  He  was  disguised." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  " 

"  I  know  not,  only  his  questions  evinced  a 
familiarity  with  your  family  history.  He 
means  your  uncle  harm,  I  fear." 

"  Oh  !  I  hope  not,"  murmured  the  girl, 
concernedly,  clasping  her  hands  in  frantic 
anxiety.  "  Uncle  is  so  low  and  nervous  that 
the  least  thing  will  startle  him.  He  has 
some  secret  care  all  the  time,  and  this  rude 
fellow  would  alarm,  terrify  him  !  Yes !  yes  ! 
If  you  will  accompany  me ;  if  you  will  ex- 
plain to  uncle.  He  may  know  the  man. 
You  can  warn  him,  enlighten  him." 

Le  Britta  had  secured  his  camera  and  other 
traps.  Miss  Vernon,  leaning  lightly  on  his 
arm,  they  took  the  path  leading  toward  the 
villa  she  had  indicated. 

The  great,  honest  heart  of  the  artist  went 
out  in  sympathy  toward  his  fair  companion 
as  they  walked  along  the  flower-spangled 
path. 


25 

The  consciousness  of  duty  done  made  him 
content.  A  keen  interest  in  the  girl  led 
him  to  hope  they  should  know  more  of  one 
another  ere  they  parted. 

His  expansive  nature  ever  took  a  delight 
in  deeds  of  chivalry  and  kindness  ;  and,  as 
she  told  him  of  the  lonely  life  she  led  at  the 
sequestered  villa,  he  marveled  that  so  fair  a 
face  had  not  long  since  attracted  the  loving 
attention  of  some  kindred  spirit. 

Opulence  and  stability  showed  on  every 
side,  as  Gladys  led  the  way  into  the  exten- 
sive grounds  of  Hawthorne  villa. 

Grandeur,  tinged  with  gloom,  haunted  the 
massive  rooms  within  the  house  with  their 
rich  adornment. 

Miss  Vernon  indicated  a  chair  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  said  she  would  see  if  her  uncle 
was  able  to  receive  a  visitor. 

The  latter  could  hear  her  speak  in  low, 
gentle  tones  to  some  one  in  the  next  apart- 
ment beyond  the  closed  doors.  Then  a  more 
masculine  tone  answered  faintly,  and  then 
she  reappeared  with  her  soft,  pleasing  smile. 

"  Uncle  will  see  you,  Mr.  Le  Britta,"  she 
said.  "I  want  you  to  tell  him  all  about  the 


26 

man  I  met,  only  do  not  excite  him  too 
much." 

"  I  think  you  are  wise  in  enlightening 
him,"  assented  the  photographer.  "  That 
man  certainly  means  mischief  to  your  uncle." 

"  Uncle,  this  is  Mr.  Le  Britta,  a  gentleman 
whose  friendly  kindness  served  me  in  a  situa- 
tion of  peril  to-day." 

"  Peril  !  "  repeated  a  startled  voice,  and 
Le  Britta  found  himself  bowing  to  an  aus- 
tere, white-haired  old  man,  propped  up 
among  pillows  in  an  arm-chair  near  the  open 
window. 

"Embarrassment,  Miss  Vernon  should 
have  said,"  interpolated  Le  Britta,  lightly. 
"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  Mr.  Vernon.  I  am  a 
photographer  on  a  wayward  tour,  and  I 
chanced  to  interfere  with  the  insolence  of  a 
tramp  a  short  time  since." 

With  shrewd  finesse,  the  photographer  pro- 
ceeded to  relate  the  incident  of  the  hour. 
He  told  the  story  simply,  robbing  the  narra- 
tion of  all  exciting  details  as  far  as  possible. 

To  his  surprise,  however,  as  he  concluded 
the  recital,  Mr.  Vernon  grew  dreadfully  pale, 
and,  sinking  back  among  the  pillows,  uttered 
a  worried  moan. 


27 

'Trouble — peril!"  he  gasped.  "Yes! 
Yes  !  It  means  something.  Oh  !  must  my 
life  be  ever  filled  with  fear  ?  Gladys,  this 
man  was  no  tramp." 

"I  think  not." 

"An  enemy,  then.     Yes,  yes" 

"  Uncle,  I  pray  you  do  not  get  excited  !  " 
exclaimed  Gladys,  solicitously.  "You  know 
the  doctor  forbade  any  agitation." 

"But  this  man  —  he  knew  your  name.  He 
threatened  me  !  He  asked  about  my  will  "- 

"  He  may  have  been  some  prying  rogue 
bent  only  on  terrifying  Miss  Vernon,"  sug- 
gested Le  Britta,  soothingly. 

"No!"  cried  her  uncle,  forcibly.  "There 
is  a  plot  here.  Ah !  I  feared  it.  Quick, 
Gladys  !  describe  him." 

The  young  girl  did  so  to  the  best  of  her 
ability.  There  was  no  sign  of  recognition 
in  old  Gideon  Vernon's  ashen  face  as  she 
concluded,  however. 

"  I  must  know  who  that  man  is,"  he  cried, 
in  a  sharp,  querulous  tone.  "I  am  satisfied 
that  peril  menaces  us.  Who  can  he  be  ?" 

"  Ah  !   I  had  forgotten  it." 

Le  Britta  arose  suddenly  to  his  feet  as  he 
spoke,  a  latent  excitement  in  his  eyes. 


28 

"  Forgotten  what  ?  "  demanded  Mr.Vernon, 
wonderingly. 

"  You  would  like   to  know  who  the  tramp 

i " 
was  f 

"  I  shall  know  no  rest  till  I  find  out,"  an- 
swered the  old  man,  anxiously. 

"  Will  his  picture  do  ?  " 

"  His  picture  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Have  you  got  it  ?  "  inquired  the  old  man, 
eagerly. 

"  I  have." 

"  Where  ?     Show  it  to  me  !  " 

"  It  must  be  developed  first.  Allow  me  to 
explain.  I  was  taking  a  snap-shot  picture 
with  my  camera  of  Miss  Vernon.  Just  then 
the  tramp  came  into  view.  His  face,  as  well, 
will  show  clearly  on  the  plate." 

"  What  fortune  ?     Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  In  my  camera,  but  I  can  develop  a  nega- 
tive quickly,  only  I  must  have  a  dark  room 
in  which  to  perfect  it." 

Le  Britta  soon  made  his  interested  and  ex- 
cited auditors  comprehend  what  he  had  to  do 
in  order  to  produce  a  distinguishable  picture. 

Soon,  too,  he  was  shown  to  a  dark  apart- 
ment. Here,  with  ruby  lamp,  trays  and 


29 

chemicals,  he  perfected  the  plate  taken  from 
the  camera. 

Old  Gideon  Vernon's  hands  trembled  with 
excitement  as  he  saw  him  reappear,  bearing 
the  glass  plate  between  his  fingers. 

"  It  is  a  perfect  picture,"  spoke  Le  Britta, 
as  he  held  the  plate  between  the  old  man's 
range  of  vision  and  the  light  of  the  open  win- 
dow. "  See,  Mr.  Vernon,  there  is  your  niece, 
and  here  is  the  tramp.  Do  you  recognize 
him?" 

With  staring  eyes  the  old  man  glared  at 
the  outlines  on  the  plate. 

Then,  with  a  hollow  groan,  he  threw  up 
his  thin,  white  hands,  and  sank  back  a  hud- 
dled, senseless  heap  among  the  pillows,  with 
the  agonized  utterance : 

"  It  is  he — the  dead  alive.  Act,  Gladys  ! 
act !  or — all  is  lost  !  " 

CHAPTER  IV. 

FROM    THE   PAST. 

JERA  LE  BRITTA  looked  startled  as  he  ob- 
served the  wealthy  and  aged  Gideon  Vernon 
sink  back  insensible,  uttering  those  ominous 
words  — 


30 

"Act,  Gladys,  act !  or  all  is  lost !  " 

The  effect  of  this  marvelous  statement  on 
the  girl,  was  to  drive  every  vestige  of  color 
from  her  face. 

"  He  is  dying  !  "  she  shrieked,  bending 
over  the  limp  and  motionless  figure  of  her 
uncle.  "The  shock  has  killed  him." 

"  No,  no,  Miss  Vernon,"  said  Le  Britta, 
quickly.  "  He  has  only  fainted.  You  really 
must  not  excite  yourself.  Allow  me  to  give 
him  the  attention  he  needs.  Bring  some 
water." 

The  young  photographer  knew  much  of 
chemicals,  something  as  well  about  medi- 
cines. He  hastened  to  examine  a  medicine 
case  outspread  on  the  table.  Selecting  a 
phial,  he  poured  a  few  drops  into  the  goblet 
which  Gladys  presented  with  a  trembling 
hand  and  fear-filled  face,  and  then,  approach- 
ing the  invalid  again,  he  forced  the  stimulant 
between  the  ashen  lips  of  the  old  man. 

Watched  with  haunted,  frightened  eyes  by 
the  girl,  and  speculatively  by  the  more  com- 
posed artist,  the  invalid  slowly  rallied.  A 
sigh  escaped  his  lips,  his  eyes  opened,  glared 
wildly  about  him,  and  then,  with  a  shudder, 
he  gasped  hoarsely : 


3' 

"Where  is  he  —  that  man  —  Ralph  Du- 
rand  ?  " 

"  Is  that  the  name  of  the  tramp?"  began 
Le  Britta. 

"  He  is  no  tramp." 

"  I  suspected  as  much." 

"  He  is  a  scoundrel  of  the  deepest  dye,  an 
enemy,  a  man  to  fear,  a  being  to  chain,  as 
you  would  a  wild  beast;  and  I  thought  him 
dead  !  I  rested  in  fancied  security !" 

"  You  may  be  mistaken  ;  a  fancied  resem- 
blance," hazarded  Le  Britta. 

"No!"  cried  the  old  man,  definitely,  "I 
am  not  in  error.  It  is  no  fancied  resem- 
blance. There  is  but  one  Ralph  Durand  in 
the  world,  and  he  has  appeared  in  this  vicin- 
ity to-day.  The  picture  you  showed  me  is 
his.  Do  you  know  what  that  means  ?  " 

Le  Britta  regarded  the  hollow-eyed  invalid 
and  his  increasing  agitation  with  alarm. 
Vernon's  nerves  were  at  a  frightful  tension. 

"  It  means  plot,  peril,  crime,  and  the  will 

-all!     I  see  it  all.     I  must  be  calm,  I  must 

act  with  promptness  and  prudence,  or  we  are 

lost.     Gladys,  I  must  see  you  alone  to  direct 

you.     You    must    hasten    to    the    village   at 


32 

once.     This  stranger  must  not  be   harassed 

with  our  family  troubles" 

"Mr.  Vernon,"  interrupted  Le  Britta, 
gravely,  "  it  is  true  that  I  am  a  stranger,  but 
I  am  deeply  interested,  and  deeply  sym- 
pathize in  your  troubles.  You  are  in  a 
dangerously  weak  condition.  Too  much  ex- 
citement may  prove  fatal  to  you.  I  beg  of 
you  to  be  calm,  to  composedly  tell  me  your 
story,  and  allow  me  to  aid  you  in  any  way  I, 
can.  You  surely  would  not  think  of  sending 
your  niece  back  into  danger  of  meeting  that 
villain  again  ? " 

"  Trust  a  stranger  ?  "  mused  Vernon,  dubi- 
ously. 

"Yes,  uncle,  you  can  trust  Mr.  Le  Britta," 
spoke  Gladys,  with  a  grateful,  confident 
glance  at  her  rescuer. 

"I  will,"  announced  Vernon,  resolutely. 
"'*  Mr.  Le  Britta,  I  depend  solely  on  you  to 
aid  me,  to  protect  this  fair  young  girl  who 
will  soon  be  friendless,  as  she  is  an  orphan." 

"  No  !  no  !  uncle,  do  not  say  that,"  sobbed 
Gladys. 

"  It  is  true.  I  feel  that  I  cannot  long  sur- 
vive this  last  shock,"  proceeded  the  invalid. 
"I  am  a  wealthy  man,  Mr.  Le  Britta,  with 


33 

but  one  near  relative,  my  darling,  faithful 
Gladys.  To  her,  three  years  ago,  I  left  by 
will  all  my  fortune." 

"  Then  what  interest  can  this  villain  Ralph 
Durand  have  in  knowing  about  it  —  what 
have  you  to  fear  from  him  ? "  queried  Le- 
Britta,  wonderingly. 

Vernon  shivered  apprehensively. 

"Much  to  fear  at  all  times,"  he  replied, 
"but  just  now  only  regarding  Gladys'  future. 
This  man  is  a  distant  relative,  a  half  cousin. 
Three  years  ago  he  was  my  favorite.  Gladys 
was  not  with  me  then.  I  trusted  Durand  with 
the  control  of  my  property.  I  treated  him 
like  a  son.  I  had  deposited  in  a  bank  sev- 
eral thousand  dollars  which  I  intended  leav- 
ing to  him  when  I  die.  I  made  a  will.  Gladys, 
of  course,  was  my  sole  heiress.  In  that  will  I 
appointed  as  as  her  guardian  this  man  Ralph 
Durand,  with  rare  discretionary  powers,  until 
she  was  of  age,  for  I  trusted  him  implicitly. 
His  fellow-trustee  was  a  friend  of  mine, 
Doctor  Winston." 

"  I  understand,"  nodded  Le  Britta,  compre- 
hendingly. 

"That  will  I  deposited  with  my  city  lawyer. 
In  his  safe  it  has  since  lain.  A  short  time 


34 

after  I  made  it,  Durand  was  unmasked  to  me. 
Slowly,  doubtingly  I  grew  to  believe,  and, 
finally,  investigated  the  dark  rumors  that 
reached  my  ears  about  his  bad  habits.  1 
learned  that  he  was  a  profligate,  a  gambler 
of  the  worst  kind,  that  he  openly  scoffed  at 
me  as  'a  golden  goose  he  was  plucking '  to  his 
evil-minded  companions  in  vice.  I  found  that 
he  had  systematically  robbed  me,  that  he  was 
a  forger  and  an  embezzler  in  matters  of  my 
estate.  I  summoned  him  to  my  presence, 
and  told  him  all.  I  ordered  him  from  my 
door.  He  left.  That  night  he  managed  to 
get  a  forged  check  for  a  large  amount  on  my 
banker  cashed,  and  on  a  second  forged  order 
he  obtained  a  box  containing  some  private 
papers  of  mine.  Among  them  was  a — a 
document,"  and  Vernon  faltered  and  paled 
visibly.  "It  referred  to  a  family  secret  that 
I  wished  to  guard  at  all  hazards.  I  sent  de- 
tectives on  his  track,  but  it  was  of  no  avail. 
Every  day  dreading  that  from  some  secure 
and  distant  place  he  would  begin  to  menace 
me  with  giving  publicity  to  the  secret,  I 
shuddered  and  feared.  Finally,  one  day,  in 
a  newspaper  I  read  that  Ralph  Durand  had 
been  killed  in  a  drunken  brawl  in  a  far 


western  mining  tavern.  I  was  free.  I  was 
only  haunted  after  that  with  the  fear  that 
some  one  might  accidentally  find  the  docu- 
ment he  had  stolen,  and  attempt  to  black- 
mail me  or  publish  the  same.  Now,"  and  the 
old  man's  eyes  expressed  a  deep  anxiety, 
"  he  reappears  suddenly,  mysteriously,  he  was 
not  dead  at  all.  He  has  returned  to  wreak 
his  baleful  hate  on  myself,  and  the  only  rel- 
ative I  have  in  the  wide  world." 

Le  Britta  was  intensely  interested  in  the 
strange,  graphic  recital,  but  he  said,  sternly  : 

"And,  Mr.  Vernon,  what  is  to  prevent  you 
from  sending  word  to  the  nearest  police 
official  to  arrest  this  knave  who  robbed  and 
disgraced  you  ? " 

"No!  no  !"  uttered  Vernon,  quickly.  "I 
dare  not  do  that.  Too  well  Ralph  Durand 
understands  his  power,  and  he  will  wield  it 
without  mercy.  He  probably  has  the  com- 
promising document  I  refer  to,  and  he  knows 
I  would  rather  pay  a  fortune  than  have  it  pub- 
lished. 

"And  that  document?"  insinuated  Le 
Britta,  curiously. 

"  I  dare  not  tell  you.  Gladys,  too,  must 
never  know.  Leave  all  that  to  me.  I  will 


36 

find  a  means  of  securing  and  destroying  it,  if 
I  live.  I  will,  later,  negotiate  with  this  vil- 
iain  for  its  surrender  for  a  money  consider- 
ation, but  just  now  there  is  a  far  more  vital 

point  that  agonizes  me  and  demands  atten- 

,  •      » 
tion. 

"And  that  is?  "  queried  Le  Britta. 

"The  will,"  ejaculated  Vernon,  forcibly  and 
excitedly. 

"  The  one  you  made  " 

"Three  years  since.  It  has  never  been 
changed.  It  lies  at  the  lawyer's,  just  as  I 
left  it." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Le  Britta,  incredu- 
lously. "  Surely,  Mr.  Vernon,  you  do  not 
mean  that  you  allowed  that  important  docu- 
ment to  remain  as  it  was  with  that  villain 
Ralph  Durand  as  guardian  to  Miss  Vernon." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  was  reprehensible,  but, 
let  me  explain.  For  a  time  I  was  so  worried 
over  Durand,  that  I  never  thought  of  the  will. 
Then  Gladys  came  from  boarding-school  to 
brighten  my  life,  and  it  again  escaped  my 
mind.  One  day  I  thought  of  it,  and  arranged 
to  go  and  get  it,  destroy  it,  and  make  a  new 
will,  appointing  a  new  guardian.  That  very 
day  I  read  of  Ralph  Durand's  death.  That 


37 

relieved  me  of  all  dread.  If  he  was  dead,  the 
mention  of  his  guardianship  was  invalid. 
Naturally,  Doctor  Winston,  a  trusted  friend, 
would  become  successor  in  trust.  The  will 
was  made  extra  strong  and  with  care,  and 
blind  that  I  was  to  the  future,  I  never  wor 
ried  about  it." 

"But  now,"  began  Le  Britta,  and  paused. 

"  Now,  to  be  plain,  if  I  should  die  to- 
night,"  

"Oh!  uncle,"  murmured  Gladys,  with  a 
shudder,  nestling  closer  to  her  beloved  rela- 
tive. 

"  Yes,  if  I  should  die  to-night,"  pursued 
Vernon,  steadily,  that  man  Durand  would 
appear  here  to-morrow  in  all  his  insolence 
and  villainy,  your  legally-appointed  guardian 
—  the  guardian  of  my  pure,  innocent  Gladys. 
Oh !  it  is  terrible  to  contemplate.  Worse 
than  that,  in  my  blind  confidence  in  him  I  gave 
Durand,  under  the  terms  of  the  will,  an  abso- 
lute temporary  control  of  everything,  without 
bond  or  legal  accountability.  No!  no!  I 
must  take  no  risks.  Not  for  a  day,  for  a 
single  hour.  We  must,  indeed,  act,  or  all  is 
lost ! " 


3* 

"  Then  why  not  send  to  your  lawyer  for 
the  will  ?  "  suggested  Le  Britta. 

"  It  is  in  the  city.  A  day's*  journey  there, 
a  day's  journey  back." 

"Telegraph  to  have  it  destroyed." 

"  In  an  important  step  like  that  they  might 
hesitate.  No,  I  have  a  plan  that  obviates  it 
all." 

"  May  I  ask  what  it  is  ?  "  queried  the  pho- 
tographer. 

"  Yes,  a  new  will." 

"Ah!" 

"  I  will  send  at  once  for  the  village  lawyer, 
Mr.  Munson.  You  will  go  for  me,  Mr.  Le 
Britta  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Bring  him  at  once.  I  will  have  him  draw 
out  a  new  will,  giving  all  my  property  to 
Gladys,  but  appointing  a  new  guardian. 
You  and  the  lawyer  can  witness  it.  I  will 
deposit  it  in  a  safe  place.  This  will  invali- 
date the  old  will.  Then  I  can  rest  in  peace, 
then  I  can  defy  this  villain,  who,  I  verily  be- 
lieve, would  murder  me  if  he  knew  how  affairs 
stood — his  rude  questioning  of  Gladys  proves 
that." 

"  You  are  right,  Mr.  Vernon,"  spoke  Le 


39 

Britta,  comfortingly.  "Your  clear-headed 
plan  removes  all  obstacles  from  your  path. 
Where  am  I  to  go  —  what  is  the  name  of  the 
village  lawyer  ?  " 

Mr.  Vernon  directed  his  guest,  and  urged 
dispatch.  For  a  moment  Le  Britta  busied 
himself  adjusting  his  camera  for  future  use. 
Then  he  announced  his  readiness  to  depart 
on  his  strange  and  important  mission. 

"I  can  never  forget  your  great  kindness 
to  us,  Mr.  Le  Britta,"  spoke  Mr.  Vernon. 
"  Once  the  new  will  is  made,  I  shall  feel  as 
if  I  have  a  new  lease  of  life.  Why,  sir,  what 
is  the  matter?" 

Le  Britta  had  started  violently.  He  even 
uttered  a  quick  ejaculation  of  surprise,  almost 
alarm. 

About  to  speak,  he  turned  his  glance  from 
the  open  window  whither  with  fixed  intensity 
it  had  just  been  directed,  and  evaded  a  re- 
ply, by  saying,  with  forced  calmness  : 

"I  am  ready  to  depart  on  my  errand,  Mr. 
Vernon." 

Every  pulse  was  quickened,  his  nerves 
were  at  a  high  tension,  however,  as  he  left 
the  room. 

He  knew  that  to  reveal  the  truth  to  the 


40 

invalid,  would  be  to  startle,  alarm  him, 
possibly  imperil  his  life. 

For,  peering  in  at  the  window  through  the 
thick  vines  that  trellised  it,  he  had  seen  the 
evil,  malignant  face  of  the  pretended  tramp, 
Gideon  Vernon's  old  time  enemy  — 

Ralph  Durand ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

''  TINCTURE    OF    IODINE." 

Miss  VERNON  accompanied  the  artist  to  the 
door.  Her  eyes  expressed  gratitude,  her 
working  features  told  of  how  she  valued  the 
kind  friend  so  strangely  come  to  her  rescue 
in  a  time  of  direful  need. 

"Watch  out  closely  for  that  villain  Durand/' 
spoke  Le  Britta,  seriously.  "I  shall  not  be 
gone  long." 

As  soon  as  Gladys  reentered  the  house, 
however,  he  glided  stealthily  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  mansion. 

"  It  was  no  delusion,"  he  murmured. 
"That  man,  the  tramp,  Ralph  Durand,  was 
certainly  at  the  window.  He  may  have  over- 
heard every  word  of  our  conversation." 

Le  Britta  was  forced  to  act  with  caution. 


He  dared  not  alarm  Mr.  Vernon  by  telling 
him  of  his  latest  startling  discovery. 

He  penetrated  the  shrubbery,  he  sought 
everywhere  for  a  trace  of  the  lurking  scoun- 
drel, but  none  was  vouchsafed  him. 

"He  has  disappeared,"  soliloquized  Le 
Britta.  "  He  surely  will  attempt  no  villainy 
in  broad  daylight.  I  can  only  hasten  on  my 
mission,  and,  returning,  aid  this  poor  old 
man  and  his  niece  by  advice  and  protection." 

Le  Britta  hurried  toward  the  distant  village 
at  a  rapid  gait.  His  thoughts  kept  pace  with 
his  swift  walk. 

That  earnest  mind  of  his  was  deeply  en- 
grossed in  the  case  that  a  mere  trifling  acci- 
dent had  made  a  seeming  part  of  his  life,  a 
vivid  chapter  in  the  book  of  destiny. 

"  The  camera  supplies  the  clue,"  he  re- 
flected. "  It  is  like  the  affair  where  I  photo- 
graphed the  brain  of  a  murdered  man,  and 
that  strange  evidence  played  a  conspicious 
part  in  the  trial  that  ensued.  Ah  !  the  possi- 
bilities of  my  profession.  It  is  artistic  in  the 
highest  sense,  yet  material.  It  is  the  con- 
necting link  between  the  past  and  the  present. 
It  illuminates  that  past,  it  sanctifies  the  pres- 
ent, it  makes  bright  the  future.  A  picture  is 


42 

fadeless.  It  gives  to  the  mourner  the  sweet 
face  of  the  cherished  dead.  It  preserves  the 
record  of  love,  devotion  and  fidelity.  In  this 
case,  it  has  played  the  detective,  may  the  re- 
sults baffle  villainy,  and  bring  peace  and  hap- 
piness to  those  two  imperiled  souls." 

Truly,  indeed,  a  great  art  was  that  to 
which  Jera  Le  Britta  had  devoted  his  life  and 
enegies. 

He  had  made  a  study  of  photography. 
From  the  wavering  steps  of  Daguerre  to  the 
proud,  steady  progress  of  a  Sarony  or  a 
Drake,  he  had  followed  the  advancement  of 
the  art,  delving  into  its  details,  investigating 
its  possibilities,  experimenting,  combining, 
improving,  until  the  boundless  scope  was  be- 
coming a  field  of  never-failing  delight  and 
surprise  to  his  keen,  artistic  senses. 

He  had  been  a  successful  man  in  his  labors 
thus  far.  Jera  Le  Britta  had  idolized  his 
work.  He  saw  in  the  art  to  which  his  efforts 
were  directed,  a  purpose,  a  reward  in  mental 
and  moral  development  and  pleasures,  that 
were  beyond  mere  financial  recompense. 
From  such  compensations,  content  and  satis- 
faction had  been  wrought,  and,  with  a  pure 
ambition  to  excel  and  elevate  his  profession, 


43 

he  knew  that  the  hard-earned  results  would 
be  more  than  the  trivial  praise  awarded  to  a 
man  who  follows  alone  the  "  fad  "  of  the  hour, 
or  labors  only  for  folly  or  amusement. 

The  highest,  truest  praise  had  often  been 
his,  but  because  he  had  added  to  the  majesty 
of  a  beautiful  art.  He  had  begun  with  no 
special  advantages,  and  in  a  small  way.  He 
had  made  steady  progress,  adding  instru- 
ments and  facilities  to  his  studio,  until  he 
stood  in  the  front  rank  of  his  profession. 
All  this  was  the  result  of  diligent  study,  con- 
stant application  and  artistic  ideas. 

Such  was  the  man  who  had  found  his  heart 
responding  to  the  call  of  distress,  and  al- 
though his  business  soon  called  him  from  a 
well-earned  vacation,  he  resolved  to  devote 
time  and  energy  to  disentangle  the  skein  of 
two  harassed  lives,  feeling  that  his  own 
would  be  the  happier  for  the  temporary  sac- 
rifice. 

The  glare  of  the  city  did  not  fascinate  him 
—  nature  was  his  queen,  his  art,  his  shrine. 
Quick  of  touch,  deft  of  perception,  thinking 
far  more  of  an  honorable,  aspiring  career  of 
usefulness  than  of  simple  worldly  dross,  he 
had  engaged  in  the  defense  of  a  menaced 


44 

couple  of  lonely,  frightened  people,  with  no 
thought  of  reward,  but  from  a  pure  sense  of 
chivalry  and  right. 

The  complications  of  the  plot  in  sight 
interested  and  yet  startled  him  vaguely.  He 
could  scarcely  understand  such  deep  villainy, 
and  yet  he  realized  that  the  scoundrel, 
Durand,  held  the  whip-hand  over  Gideon 
Vernon  through  the  secret  of  his  life,  and 
menaced  him  powerfully  and  balefully.  Later 
he  resolved  to  appeal  to  the  invalid  to  boldly 
defy  his  persecutor,  but  first  he  plainly  real- 
ized the  all-important  thing  was  the  execution 
of  a  new  will,  rescinding  and  invalidating  the 
document  that  made  the  sordid  Durand  the 
guardian  of  the  fortune  and  happiness  of 
beautiful  Gladys  Vernon. 

Le  Britta  reached  the  village  in  an  hour. 
A  second  hour  was  lost  in  seeking  the  law- 
yer, Mr.  Munson,  for  whom  he  had  been 
sent,  and  the  result  a  keen  and  perplexing 
dissapointment.  He  experienced  no  difficulty 
in  locating  the  office  of  the  attorney,  but 
found  only  a  clerk  there. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Munson,"  he  spoke. 
"  Mr.  Vernon  wishes  to  have  him  come  to 
his  villa  at  once." 


45 

"Mr.  Munson  is  out,"  answered  the  dap- 
per, smart-appearing  subordinate. 

"  Where  can  I  find  him  ?  " 

"He  went  to  see  Judge  Elston  about  a 
case.  The  large  house  beyond  the  depot." 

Arrived  at  the  judicial  residence,  Le  Britta 
found  only  a  servant  there. 

She  stated  that  her  employer  and  Lawyer 
Munston  had  taken  a  carriage,  and  had 
driven  over  to  the  next  village  to  see  about  a 
case  on  trial  there. 

"  Do  you  know  when  they  will  return," 
queried  the  protographer,  anxiously. 

"No  ;  not  before  late  to-night,  though/' 

"  I  may  as  well  return  to  the  villa.  There 
is  no  other  lawyer  in  town,"  reflected  Le 
Britta.  "Mr.  Vernon  will  be  anxious,  and  I 
fear  that  villain  Durand.  Why  can  he  not 
write  his  own  will,  and  secure  another  witness 
beside  myself,  from  some  neighboring  resi- 
dence? "Yes,"  he  decided;  "  I  will  return 
and  suggest  that  course  to  him." 

Le  Britta,  therefore,  started  back  the  way 
he  had  come. 

Just  as  he  left  the  village,  he  paused  for  a 
moment,  bent  his  ear,  listened,  and  then 


46 

smiled,  despite  the  grave  responsibilities  that 
weighed  upon  his  mind. 

A  boy,  mending  a  kite  in  a  back  yard,  was 
singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  the  strain 
he  was  laboring  over  was  the  chorus  of  a 
song  that  was  a  ruling  favorite  just  then  on 
the  comedy  stage. 

His  youthful  voice  rang  out  clear  and 
resonant  as  the  piping  cry  of  a  red-bird - 

"  But  there  came  upon  the  scene  a  bright  photographer, 

There  came  upon  the  scene  a  bright  photographer, 

There  wasn't  a  biographer, 

Nor  e'en  a  lexicographer, 

Who  did  not  write  about  this  bright  photographer. " 

Le  Britta  smiled.  Life  had  its  humorous 
side,  even  where  gravity  was  the  rule  of  the 
hour,  but  the  momentary  influence  of  merri- 
ment soon  gave  way  to  the  more  somber 
duties  of  the  time. 

He  reached  the  grounds  of  Hawthorne 
villa  somewhat  wearied  from  his  long  tramp. 
He  took  a  keen  glance  about  the  garden,  the 
lurking  Durand  still  in  his  thoughts ;  then, 
being  positive  that  he  caught  the  murmur  of 
human  voices  just  beyond  a  gothic  summer- 
house  encased  in  foliage,  he  drew  near  to  it, 
and  peered  through  the  interlacing  vines. 

"  Hello  !    What  does  this  mean  ?  " 


47 

Well  might  the  photographer  stare  in  won- 
der,  and  repeat  the  startled  ejaculation  ! 

For  it  was  not  the  plotful  Durand  that  he 
saw,  but,  outlined  plainly  in  the  soft  light  of 
the  structure,  the  fair  form  of  the  debonair 
Gladys,  and,  holding  her  snowy  hand,  and 
peering  into  her  flushing,  down-cast  face,  was 
a  young  man. 

"A  lover  —  she  has  a  lover!"  murmured 
Le  Britta.  "  Here  is  a  new  complication.  If 
he  is  only  worthy  of  her" 

He  had  no  thought  of  playing  the  eaves- 
dropper, but  the  scene  held  him  momentarily 
captive.  Honest  brotherly  interest  in  Miss 
Vernon  caused  him  to  study  the  face  of  her 
companion  keenly. 

A  reader  of  men,  he  looked  pleased  and 
satisfied  as  a  second  glance  at  the  athletic 
young  fellow  convinced  the  photographer  that 
he  was  one  of  nature's  noblemen. 

"No,  dear  Sydney,  you  must  not  think  of 
seeing  uncle  just  now,"  Gladys  was  saying. 

"But  I  cannot  endure  this  suspense.  I 
cannot  have  him  at  emnity  with  me,  and  all 
for  a  foolish  misunderstanding,"  persisted  her 
companion.  "  We  love  each  other,  Gladys,  do 
we  not?  We  are  pledged  to  one  another. 


48 

Your  uncle  quarreled  with  me  because  I  in- 
sisted on  an  early  union.  Hot-tempered,  I 
was  unreasonably  haughty  with  him.  The 
result  is  a  coldness  between  us.  No,  dear 
heart !  I  value  your  peace  of  mind  and  Mr. 
Vernon's  good  opinion  too  deeply  to  be  at 
odds  with  him.  I  shall  try  to  see  him  some 
time  soon  —  this  evening,  probably,  and  con- 
fess my  willfulness,  and  smooth  over  our  little 
inconsistencies  of  temper.  I  will  have  it  so  ! 
Ah  !  he  is  calling  you.  There  !  you  must  go. 
Good-by,  my  life's  love  and  light !  Until  to- 
morrow, adieu ! " 

There  was  the  echo  of  a  kiss,  and  Le  Britta 
gained  the  front  portals  of  the  house  just  as 
Gladys,  red  as  a  peony,  came  around  the 
garden  path. 

"Oh!  Mr.  Le  Britta,  you  have  returned?" 
she  murmured,  confusedly. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Vernon."  ' 

"And  alone?" 

"The  lawyer  is  out  of  town." 

"  O  dear  !  what  will  uncle  say  ?  " 

Le  Britta  explained  his  new  plan.  It 
seemed  to  please  her,  and  she  led  the  way 
into  the  house. 

"  I  like  that  young  fellow  she  called  Syd- 


49 

ney,"  reflected  Le  Britta.  "  I  hope  I  may 
have  an  opportunity  of  helping  to  heal  that 
breach  in  the  sadly  disorganized,  domestic 
distress  of  this  strange  family." 

He  found  that  the  invalid  had  caused  his 
chair  to  be  wheeled  out  on  the  porch,  where 
the  bright  sunshine  filtered  through  the  cool, 
green  leaves  of  overhanging  boughs,  and, 
seating  himself  by  his  side,  Le  Britta  told 
him  of  the  result  of  his  visit  to  the  village. 

Mr.  Vernon  was  disappointed  over  the  re- 
port at  first,  but  Le  Britta  soon  convinced 
him  that  they  could  arrange  the  affair  of  the 
will  quite  as  well  without  legal  assistance. 

"  I  think  I  can  dictate  the  proper  form,"  he 
said.  "You  can  write  it,  Mr.  Vernon,  and  it 
will  need  two  witnesses.  I  will  act  as  one." 

"And  the  other?"  murmured  Vernon. 

"Some  neighbor" 

Mr.  Vernon  frowned,  annoyedly. 

"  Not  my  nearest  neighbor,"  he  spoke, 
severely.  "The  young  gentleman  boarding 
there  has  taken  occasion  to  resent  my  will, 
and  " 

An  imploring  look  from  Gladys  silenced 
the  old  man  on  that  score,  but  he  added : 

"  We  can  find  some  one  readily.    Yes,  yes  ! 


50 

My  dear  friend,  your  suggestions  are  invalu 
able.     We  will  proceed  to  business  at  once." 

Le  Britta  was  glad  to  have  the  matter  so 
satisfactorily  adjusted.  He  got  ready  to  help 
wheel  the  invalid's  chair  back  into  his  room 
from  the  porch,  meantime  congratulating 
himself  that  Durand  had  not  appeared  dur- 
ing his  absence. 

He  little  dreamed  it,  but  Durand  was  very 
near  to  him  at  that  moment. 

There  was  a  rustle  among  the  vines  near 
the  open  window  of  the  now  vacant  sick- 
room, as  the  conversation  on  the  porch  ter- 
minated. 

The  next  moment,  an  uncouth  figure  sprang 
over  the  window-sill  and  landed  on  the  floor 
of  the  apartment  beyond. 

It  was  Ralph  Durand,  the  pretended  tramp, 
only  the  disfiguring  shade  was  torn  from  his 
face  now,  revealing  all  the  dangerous  bright 
ness  of  his  evil-piercing  glance. 

Those  eyes  swept  the  apartment  in  a  quick 
flash.  His  lip  was  curled  in  scorn,  his  man- 
ner bold,  insolent,  aggressive. 

"  So  ! "  he  murmured,  "  old  Gideon  Vernon 
seeks  to  outwit  me,  does  he  ?  A  man  with 
three  years'  experience  among  the  rough 


miners  of  the  west  scarcely  stops  at  the  weak 
efforts  of  a  dying  miser,  a  love-sick  girl,  and 
a  philanthropic  photographer.  The  game  is 
in  my  hands,  if  Gideon  Vernon  dies.  He 
shall  die  !  Fortunately  I  have  overheard  all 
their  plans.  But  the  new  will  ?  My  only 
hope  is  to  still  watch  ccvertly.  I  cannot  pre- 
vent its  execution,  but  I  can  find  and  destroy 
it  later.  Once  guardian  of  the  beautiful 
Gladys,  once  I  handle  the  Vernon  fortune,  I 
will  make  no  mistake  next  time.  Mercy  ! 
the  very  thing  !  " 

With  a  prodigious  start  the  man  with  the 
murderous  heart  and  an  eye  of  lurid,  baleful 
fire  sprang  to  the  side  of  the  table. 

There,  outspread,  was  the  medicine  case. 
His  glance,  running  over  the  phials  and 
bottles  it  contained,  rested,  fascinated,  on  one 
of  them. 

Tightly  corked,  it  bore  the  label,  Tincture 
of  Iodine. 

The  man's  eyes  blazed  with  fervid  delight 
as  he  read  it. 

"Tincture  of  Iodine  !"  he  ejaculated,  with 
a  hoarse,  grating  chuckle.  "  What  fortune  ! 
Luckily  I  know  the  deft  uses  of  that  subtle 
acid.  Ah  !  Gideon  Vernon,  write  your  will, 


52 

it  will  prove  waste  paper.  Only  a  minute  in 
which  to  act,  to  disappear.  Then,  unless  they 
suspect,  I  am  safe  !  " 

Durand  glided  to  the  mantel.  There  lay  a 
tray  of  writing  materials.  Two  tiny  ink- 
bottles  rested  in  oxidized  silver  clasps.  He 
detached  them,  and  poured  their  contents 
into  the  grate.  Then,  rubbing  them  care- 
fully clean  on  the  sleeve  of  his  ragged  coat, 
he  refilled  them  from  the  bottle  of  iodine. 

He  glided  through  the  window  just  as  the 
door  opened  to  admit  Le  Britta,  Gladys,  and 
Gideon  Vernon  into  his  invalid  chair. 

Supreme  satisfaction  wreathed  the  sinister 
features  of  the  plotter. 

Well  might  he  smile,  and  hope,  and  wait, 
lurking  at  the  open  window. 

For,  upon  the  substitution  of  the  innocent 
acid  for  the  ink  hung  the  hopes,  the  fortune, 
the  happiness  of  winsome,  bright-hearted 
Gladys  Vernon. 


53 

CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  WILL. 

MR.  VERNON  was  showing  the  results  of 
over-excitement  as  Le  Britta  wheeled  him 
into  the  room  just  vacated  by  Durand. 

That  resolute  eye  of  his,  however,  evi- 
denced that  he  was  determined  to  carry  out 
the  project  suggested  by  the  photographer, 
and  after  sinking  back  among  the  pillows 
and  resting  for  a  moment  or  two,  he  said : 

"Wheel  the  table  nearer,  Gladys,  and 
bring  the  writing  materials  from  the  mantel." 

The  devoted  girl  obeyed  him,  with  that 
instinctive  gentleness  and  lack  of  bustle  that 
evidenced  long  attention  to  the  invalid.  She 
placed  pens  and  paper  near  to  his  hand,  and 
brought  as  well  the  oxidized  ink-wells,  the 
contents  of  which  had  been  so  mysteriously 
juggled  by  Durand  only  a  few  minutes  pre- 
vious. 

As  for  the  pretended  tramp  himself,  if  he 
still  lurked  at  the  window,  he  did  so  too 
deftly  to  betray  his  near  proximity. 

"  Now  then,  Mr.  Le  Britta,  begin,"  spoke 
the  old  man. 

The  photographer  joggled  his  memory  to 


54 

recall  the  legal  formula  for  a  will,  and  Mr. 

Vernon  began  writing. 

"What  miserable  ink!"  he  ejaculated, 
suddenly  and  with  irritation.  "  It  looks  like 
iron-rust  water. 

Gladys  did  not  pay  any  attention  to  the 
remark,  attributing  it  to  failing  eyesight  and 
the  usual  crotchety,  fault-finding  temper  of  her 
sick  relative. 

"  It  makes  a  wretched  blotch,  looks  like 
brown  paint,"  again  uttered  Vernon,  wrath- 
fully,  surveying  with  a  frown  of  annoyance 
the  first  few  words  he  had  written  on  the 
white  page  before  him.  "Is  there  none  bet- 
ter in  the  house,  Gladys  ?  " 

"I  fear  not,  uncle,"  murmured  his  niece, 
gently. 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  make  it  do," 
growled  Vernon.  "Proceed,  Mr.  Le  Britta." 

The  photographer  supplied  the  words  of 
the  form  usually  adopted  in  framing  a  will, 
and  Mr.  Vernon  wrote  in  his  bequests.  He 
left  all  his  property,  real  and  personal,  to  his 
beloved  niece,  Gladys  Vernon.  When  he 
referred  to  his  moneyed  possessions,  he 
glanced  at  a  cabinet  in  one  corner  of  the 
apartment,  seemed  to  be  about  to  refer  to 


55 

something  there,  evidently  changed  his  mind, 
and  then  concluded  the  instrument  by  ap- 
pointing Doctor  Winston  and  Jera  Le  Britta 
his  executors,  and  guardians  of  Gladys  dur- 
ing her  brief  minority. 

Le  Britta  flushed  gratefully  at  the  compli- 
ment thus  paid  to  him.  It  evidenced  the 
confidence  with  which  he  had  inspired  the 
old  man,  and  the  regard  which  he  felt  for 
him. 

Always  a  heart-winner,  with  his  unobtru- 
sive, earnest  ways,  the  present  acknowledge- 
ment of  his  devotion,  while  it  placed  an 
obligation  upon  him,  still  pleased  him. 

"Thank  goodness!  that  is  off  my  mind," 
exclaimed  Vernon,  with  a  great  sigh  of  satis- 
faction and  relief. 

"Not  quite  yet,  uncle,"  insinuated  Gladys, 
gently. 

"  Eh  !  you  mean  ?  " 

"  The  witnesses." 

"True,  Mr.  Le  Britta,  you  will  sign  here." 

"  Not  until  the  other  witness  is  here," 
interrupted  the  photographer.  "The  wit- 
nesses must  sign  each  in  the  presence  of 
the  other." 


56 

"  Uncle,  the  housekeeper  has  returned, 
will  not  her  signature  help  us  out  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  an  interested  party,  she  is  not 
mentioned  in  the  will,"  spoke  Le  Britta. 
"  Yes,  that  will  save  us  the  trouble  of  sum- 
moning an  outsider." 

Gladys  left  the  apartment,  and  returned 
with  a  pleasant-faced  woman  of  about  forty, 
a  few  minutes  later. 

"Mrs.  Darrell,  Mr.  Le  Britta,"  uttered 
Gladys,  and  the  photographer  bowed,  and 
proceeded  to  the  side  of  Mr.  Vernon. 

He  started  slightly  as  his  eyes  rested 
closely  on  the  written  page. 

The  writing  was  plain  enough,  but  the  ink 
used  was  wretched.  Mr.  Vernon  had  spoken 
truly.  It  looked  as  if  written  with  the  worst 
faded  ink.  About  to  speak  of  it  Le  Britta 
checked  himself.  Every  little  occurrence 
agitated  the  invalid,  and  what,  after  all,  mat- 
tered obscure  ink,  so  that  it  made  a  legible 
record. 

He  signed  his  name  as  witness,  the  house- 
keeper followed  his  example  and  withdrew 
from  the  apartment,  and  Mr.  Vernon  pushed 
the  document  across  the  table,  as  if  to  allow 
it  to  dry. 


57 

Gladys'  pretty  face  showed  the  relief  of  a 
difficult  task  accomplished.  She  was  glad  to 
get  the  affair  off  her  uncle's  mind.  Uncon- 
sciously, her  nervous  fingers  rested  on  the 
camera  a  few  feet  away  from  the  written 
page. 

"Take  care,  Miss  Vernon  ! "  laughed  Le 
Britta,  "or  you'll  be  shooting  off  my  loaded 
camera.  The  will,  Mr.  Vernon  ? "  he  con- 
tinued, interrogatively,  as  the  invalid  made  a 
motion  toward  it. 

Vernon  took  up  the  document  and  folded 
it  up.  He  placed  it  in  an  envelope,  sealed  it, 
and  handed  it  to  Gladys. 

"  Take  it,  my  child,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be 
safe  in  your  keeping.  Hide  it  where  you 
can  be  sure  to  find  it  when  I  die." 

"Oh,  I  hope  that  will  be  a  long,  long 
time,  dear  uncle,"  returned  Gladys,  sincerely. 

The  invalid  uttered  a  moan  of  weariness. 

"  I  am  very  tired,"  he  spoke.  "  Draw  the 
shades,  and  I  will  try  to  sleep  a  little. 
Gladys,  Mr.  Le  Britta  must  remain  with  us 
tor  a  day  or  two." 

"  I  fear  I  will  have  to  be  getting  back  to 
business,  Mr.  Vernon,"  demurred  the  pho- 
tographer. "  I  have  already  extended  my 


vacation,  and  there  is  a  convention  of  the 
Knights  of  Pythias,  where  they  insist  nobody 
can  photograph  their  august  assemblage  ex- 
cept my  poor  self." 

"At  least  remain  until  to-morrow,"  urged 
Vernon.  "  I  wish  to  have  a  confidential  in- 
terview with  you  when  I  am  rested.  I  do 
not  feel  equal  to  the  task,  after  the  excite- 
ment of  the  day." 

Le  Britta  could  not  very  well  refuse. 
Gladys  darkened  the  sick-room,  and  led  her 
guest  to  the  broad  outside  porch,  where  he 
had  the  choice  of  swinging  chairs  or  a  ham- 
mock, brought  him  some  books,  and  left  him, 
to  aid  the  housekeeper  in  providing  for  his 
comfort  during  his  anticipated  brief  stay. 

From  reading  and  resting,  Le  Britta  fell  to 
meditation  over  all  the  strange  occurrences 
of  the  past  few  hours. 

Every  element  in  the  case  under  medita- 
tion was  clearly  outlined  and  comprehended 
in  his  quick  mind,  except  one  —  the  relation  of 
the  young  man  he  had  seen  conversing  with 
Gladys  in  the  garden,  her  lover-like  com- 
panion, whom  she  had  called  Sydney. 

Feeling  naturally  a  warm  interest  in  the 
fair,  innocent  creature  whose  happiness 


59 

seemed  menanced  by  a  villain  ;  he  hoped 
that  a  reconcilation  would  take  place  between 
the  lover  and  Gladys'  irascible  uncle  ere  he 
left.  Then  he  could  leave  with  the  assurance 
that  both  had  a  protector,  in  case  Durand 
attempted  to  trouble  them  further. 

"I  do  not  see  how  Durand  can  bother 
.Vernon  now,"  mused  Le  Britta,  "except 
through  the  secret  he  holds.  What  a  strange 
fate  led  me  to  participate  in  the  ambitions, 
hopes  and  fears  of  these  two  people  !  To- 
morrow, however,  I  must  leave  the  field  of 
romance,  to  return  to  the  humdrum  existence 
of  practical  labor.  I  may  never  see  them 
again  ;  but  the  experience  has  enabled  me  to 
do  a  kind  deed,  and  win  new  friends.  My 
vacation  has  done  me  good.  To-morrow  I 
must  welcome  studio,  home,  friends  and  those 
I  love  so  dearly." 

Le  Britta's  face  glowed  with  affection  and 
happiness,  as  he  pictured  the  happy  home- 
circle  that  knew  him  as  father,  husband, 
protector  and  guide — the  ever-gentle  wife, 
the  two  happy-hearted  cherubs  who  made 
life  worth  living,  the  bright-eyed,  intelligent 
young  lady  whom  he  had  recently  taken  into 


6o 

his  employ  under  his  instructions,  to  aid  in 
the  more  artistic  portion  of  his  work. 

The  bustling,  energetic,  typical  western 
town  where  he  had  settled  down  in  business, 
was  about  fifty  miles  distant  from  Hawthorne 
villa.  Here  Le  Britta  had  been  located  for 
several  years,  from  a  bare  two  hundred  dol- 
lars having  worked  up  in  his  business  until 
he  had  amassed  a  generous  competency,  and 
at  thirty  years  of  age  was  beloved  and  re- 
spected by  his  fellow-townsmen  —  with  the 
fame  of  his  artistic  excellence  spread  far  and 
wide.  He  had  learned  the  rudiments  of  his 
art  in  three  of  the  larger  western  cities  ;  had 
known  all  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  wealth 
and  refinement,  but  when  reverses  came  to 
his  parents,  he  had  struck  out  manfully  for 
himself,  and  now,  having  amassed  a  small 
fortune,  he  thought  far  more  of  the  good  it 
enabled  him  to  do,  and  of  his  profession,  than 
of  the  mere  satisfaction  of  piling  up  riches. 

In  all  this  struggle,  his  noble  helpmate  had 
been  an  aid,  a  comforter,  an  adviser,  a  kin- 
dred spirit.  Perhaps  the  happiness  she  had 
brought  to  him  warmed  his  heart  with  noble, 
generous  sympathy  for  those  less  fortunate, 
whom  he  endeavored  to  place  upon  a  like 


6i 

basis  of  right-doing  and  earnest  adherence  to 
the  principles  of  success  in  life.  She,  like 
himself,  was  an  artist,  and  with  her  critical 
taste  to  aid  him,  and  the  molding  of  the 
mind  of  his  assistant,  Maud  Gordon,  the 
atmosphere  of  his  neat,  beautiful  studio  was 
one  of  high  art,  rather  than  professional  labor. 

"  With  the  morrow  the  old  life  of  work, 
recompense,  happiness,"  murmured  Le  Britta ; 
and  his  eyes  closing  in  a  muse  of  peaceful 
contemplation,  he  slumbered  before  he  was 
aware  of  the  insidious  approach  of  the  drowsy 
god. 

It  was  nearly  dusk  when  he  awoke  with  a 
start.  Something  had  aroused  him  with  a 
shock.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  excitedly. 

"What  was  it!"  he  ejaculated,  alarmed. 
"  Some  one  cried  for  help.  There  it  is 
again  !  " 

He  ran  to  the  door  leading  out  upon  the 
porch.  As  he  gained  it,  in  accents  of  the 
wildest  terror,  through  the  gloomy,  silent 
house  rang  out  the  wild,  frantic  tones  of 
Gladys  Vernon  : 

"  Help  !  help  !  help  !  " 

Yes,  something  had  happened.  In  a  flash, 
Jera  Le  Britta,  with  a  vivid  memory  of  Du- 


62 

rand,  the  tramp,  of  the  exciting-  incidents  of 
the  early  afternoon,  felt  certain. 

But  what  ? 

He  was  soon  to  know  !  Something  had, 
indeed,  happened  !  something  strangely  ex- 
citing, distressing,  tragic  ;  and  that  terrified 
shriek,  repeated,  announced  the  fact. 

"Help!  help!  help!" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A   TRAGIC    HOUR. 

WHEN  Jera  Le  Britta  and  Gladys  left  Mr. 
Vernon  to  the  solitude  of  the  sick  room,  the 
latter  sank  back  in  his  chair  with  a  weary 
sigh. 

It  was  true  that  a  great  care  had  been  re- 
moved from  his  mind  by  the  settlement  of 
the  matter  of  the  will,  but  his  eyes  were  still 
haunted  with  worrying  dread,  and  he  shud- 
dered every  time  he  thought  of  the  man  so 
feared  —  Ralph  Durand. 

"I  have  blocked  his  game  in  one  way- 
he  can  never  become  Gladys'  guardian,  nor 
secure  the  control  of  my  estate  now,"  reflected 
the  invalid ;  "  but  he  will  doubtless  attempt  to 


63 

persecute  me  in  the  matter  of  the  old  family 
secret.  He  is  a  desperate  man  and  will  try 
to  blackmail  me,  to  sell  me  the  secret.  Well, 
money  can  silence  his  lips.  Then  I  shall 
know  some  peace  again.  Ah  !  if  I  were  not 
so  weak.  For  Gladys'  sake  I  would  like  to 
live.  This  new  friend,  Le  Britta  —  his  coming 
has  been  a  rare  blessing  to  us." 

Vernon's  mind  became  gradually  quieted 
down,  as  he  realized  that  he  had  a  stanch, 
strong  defender  so  near  to  him,  and  he  dozed 
lightly. 

It  was  just  getting  dusk,  and  he  was  about 
to  tap  the  little  silver  bell  at  his  hand,  the 
customary  signal  for  his  faithful  nurse, 
Gladys,  when  he  started,  and  with  quicken- 
ing breath,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  window. 

The  curtains  had  moved  aside,  and  a  vil- 
lainous faced  peered  in.  It  was  instantly 
withdrawn,  however,  as  Vernon  barely  sup- 
pressed a  startled,  agitated  cry. 

"  Durand!  "  gasped  the  affrighted  invalid. 
"  He  still  haunts  the  place.  The  will  ?  No. 
That  is  safe  with  Gladys,  but  the  money 
box  ?  Can  that  be  his  motive  ?  " 

With  infinite  difficulty  the  invalid  lifted 
himself  to  an  upright  position.  He  managed 


64 

to  drag  the  little  medicine  chest  nearer  to 
him.  Then,  with  trembling  fingers,  he  se- 
lected a  bottle  from  the  many  that  the  case 
contained,  and,  by  the  dim  light  reading  the 
inscription  that  it  bore,  he  lifted  it  to  his  lips 
and  drained  its  contents. 

"The  doctor  gave  me  that  as  a  final 
exigency,"  he  murmured.  "  I  demanded  a 
draught  that  would  revive  and  give  me 
strength  as  a  last  vital  emergency.  The  re- 
action may  be  fatal,  but  I  have  work  to  do. 
Ralph  Durand  shall  not  prosper  in  his  vil- 
lainy. I  will  balk  his  every  design." 

Already  the  powerful  potion  had  begun  its 
inspiriting  work.  The  invalid  seemed  to  be- 
come a  new  man  all  of  a  sudden.  The  mag- 
ical draught  brought  the  color  to  his  face, 
made  his  eyes  sparkle,  endowed  him  with 
remarkable  strength.  He  arose  from  his 
chair,  tottered  to  the  cabinet  in  one  corner  of 
the  apartment,  unlocked  it,  drew  forth  a  som- 
ber-looking metal  box,  and,  clasping  this 
tightly  under  his  arm,  he  parted  the  draperies 
at  one  end  of  the  room,  and  disappeared, 
with  a  last  apprehensive  glance  at  the  win- 
dow, where  the  sinister  face  of  the  plotter  he 


65 

so  dreaded  had  appeared  a  moment  or  two 
previous. 

One  minute  passed  by  —  two  —  three. 
Then,  gasping,  tottering,  white-faced  Gideon 
Vernon  re-entered  the  room,  staggered  to 
his  chair,  sank  into  it  exhausted,  but  the  pre- 
cious box  of  treasure  was  no  longer  in  his 
possession. 

"Safe!"  he  almost  chuckled.  "A  barren 
welcome  will  the  sordid  Durand  secure  from 
his  sneaking  visit  to  the  villa.  What  is 
that?" 

The  shadows  of  eventide  were  deepening, 
but  a  broad  flare  of  light  in  the  west  outlined 
the  window  frame.  A  darker  shadow  crossed 
it.  Assuming  form  and  substance,  the  hag- 
gard, venomous  features  of  Durand  were 
revealed. 

This  time  he  crept  over  the  sill  and  gained 
the  floor  of  the  sick-room. 

The  invalid,  motionless,  watched  him. 
The  plotter  directed  a  keen  glance  at  the 
chair  and  its  occupant,  evidently  adjudged 
Vernon  to  be  asleep,  and  cautiously  ap- 
proached the  self-same  cabinet  that  Vernon 
had  denuded  of  its  precious  treasure  less  than 
five  minutes  before. 


66 

He  opened  it,  glared  into  it,  felt  in  it. 
Then,  a  hoarse,  grating-  cry  of  disappoint- 
ment and  rage  escaped  his  lips. 

"  Not  there  !  "  he  hissed,  fiercely,  "  and  yet 
I  saw  him  put  it  there  this  very  afternoon. 
Has  all  my  patient  watching  been  in  vain  ? 
No  !  no  !  I  must,  I  will  have  at  least  that 
much  of  his  miserly  wealth,  if  I  wrench  the 
secret  from  his  craven  heart." 

Durand  recoiled  as  if  dealt  a  blow,  as,  in 
mocking  response  to  his  vivid  soliloquy,  a 
low,  rasping  laugh  rang  derisively  upon  his 
ears. 

He  stared  in  wonderment,  and  then,  in 
baffled  rage  and  hate  at  the  chair,  for  its  oc- 
cupant had  moved,  and  he  saw  the  keen, 
glittering  eyes  of  the  man  whose  peace  of 
mind  he  sought  to  destroy,  fixed  contemptu- 
ously upon  him. 

"  You — awake?"  he  gasped. 

'Yes,  Ralph  Durand,  I  have  been  watch- 
ing you,"  spoke  Vernon,  in  a  marvelously 
calm  tone  of  voice.  "You  are  baffled, 
beaten  ! " 

With  a  cry  of  unutterable  anger,  the  villain 
sprang  to  the  invalid's  side. 

"  You  know  what  I  came  for,  Gideon  Ver- 


67 

non  !  "  he  hissed,  malignantly.  "  Speak  ! 
where  is  your  treasure-box  ?  " 

"  Find  out !  " 

"Be  careful !   I  am  a  desperate  man." 

'  You  cannot  harm  me." 

"  Can  I  not  ?  I  can  choke  the  life  from 
your  body  !  " 

"And  I  can  cry  for  help.  What!  you 
dare." 

4  The  box  !  where  is  it  ?  give  it  up,  I  say, 
or" 

"Hel-p!" 

The  word  gurgled  in  the  invalid's  throat. 
It  died  to  a  moan.  Enraged  beyond  measure, 
Durand  had  dragged  Vernon  from  his  chair. 
Maddened  with  spite  and  discomfiture,  he 
dealt  him  a  heavy  blow,  and  then,  as  he 
fancied  that  he  saw  a  form  at  the  door  that 
led  out  upon  the  veranda,  he  sprang  to  the 
window,  leaped  through  it,  and  disappeared 
in  the  deepening  darkness  of  the  night. 

A  form  had  appeared  at  the  door  in  ques- 
tion, the  figure  of  a  young  man.  It  was 
Sydney  Vance,  pretty  Gladys  Vernon's  lover. 
He  had  come  as  he  told  her  he  would  in  the 
interview  in  the  garden,  determined  on  sur- 
prising Mr.  Vernon  alone,  resolved  to  atone 


68 

for  his  past  coldness,  and  heal  the  breach  of 
enmity  that  existed  between  himself  and  the 
uncle  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

Fatal  moment !  He  had  not  seen  the  fugi- 
tive Durand,  but,  as  he  advanced,  he  made 
out  the  gasping,  writhing  form  on  the  floor 
of  the  apartment. 

"  Mr.  Vernon  !  "  he  ejaculated,  alarmed 
and  leaning  over  the  invalid.  "  You  have 
fallen  "- 

"  No  !  "  gasped  Vernon.  "  Struck  down 
—  murdered  —  dying!  I  have  received  my 
death-blow  " 

"  Your  death-blow,"  repeated  the  petrified 
Sydney. 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  " 

"  You  mean  " 

"  Ralph  Durand  !  Quick  !  after  him  !  ap- 
prehend the  assassin  !  There  is  not  a 
moment  to  lose  " — 

"  Which  way  did  he  go  ?  " 

The  prostrate  man  could  not  speak.  A 
sudden  rigidity  seized  his  limbs,  and  he  only 
pointed  spasmodically  toward  the  open  win- 
dow, and  fell  back,  the  hue  of  death  in  his 
aged  face. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  the  door  of  the 


69 

room  connecting  with  the  hall  opened,  and 
Gladys  Vernon,  bearing  a  lighted  lamp, 
crossed  its  threshold. 

Behind  her,  bearing  a  tea-tray,  came  the 
housekeeper.  Sydney  saw  Gladys,  but,  in- 
tent on  following  out  Vernon's  orders,  he 
disappeared. 

A  frightful  scream  escaped  Gladys'  lips  as 
she  took  in  all  the  bewildering  and  terrifying 
scene  —  the  prostrate  uncle  gasping  in  the 
agony  of  death  on  the  floor,  her  flying 
lover. 

The  housekeeper,  alarmed,  pressed  close 
after  her. 

"  Uncle !  uncle !  oh !  what  does  this 
mean  ?  "  she  shrieked,  as  she  noticed  a  lurid 
mark  on  his  brow. 

"Murder  —  that  villain,"  gasped  Vernon. 

"  And  he,  Sydney,  here  !  " 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  was  struck — down.  Syd- 
ney Vance — he" 

The  dying  man  meant  to  say  that  Sydney 
was  pursuing  the  real  assassin.  Oh,  fatal 
weakness !  To  the  ears  of  the  appalled 
housekeeper,  his  last  incoherent  utterance 
ascribed  the  crime  of  the  moment  to  Gladys 
Vernon's  lover! 


70 

"Uncle,  dear  uncle  —  help!   help!  help!" 
Twice-repeated,  the  frantic  utterance  rang 
out,    for,  with    a   heart-rending    moan,    just 
then,  Gideon  Vernon  sank  back  —  dead  ! 

It  was  this  blood-curdling  cry  that  had 
aroused  Jera  Le  Britta,  and  he  dashed  into 
the  room  a  minute  later,  to -witness  the  most 
exciting  tableau  of  all  his  varied  existence. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
DOOMED ! 

LE  BRITTA  was  too  staggered  to  speak,  as 
he  looked  down  at  the  lifeless  form  of  old 
Gideon  Vernon,  and  surveyed  the  distracted 
Gladys  as  she  folded  his  motionless  form  in 
her  frantic  clasp. 

The  housekeeper,  white  as  a  sheet,  seemed 
stricken  dumb  with  terror.  The  torn  curtain 
at  the  window,  the  rifled  cabinet,  the  over- 
turned invalid  chair,  the  mark  on  the  dead 
man's  brow,  the  general  disorder  of  the  apart- 
ment, all  spoke  of  crime,  deadly  assault,  rob- 
bery, murder! 

The  incoherent  ravings  of  the  frantic 
Gladys  thrilled  the  startled  and  appalled 


photographer  to  sudden  horror.  She  wailed 
out  her  grief  at  her  uncle's  death,  vainly  call- 
ing upon  him  to  return  to  life,  praying  for  the 
punishment  of  his  cruel  assassin.  She 
moaned  that  she  had  seen  Sydney  Vance  at 
the  window  —  she  recalled  Vernon's  last  dy- 
ing allusion  to  him,  and  in  sheer  bewilder- 
ment Le  Britta  turned  to  the  housekeeper. 

"What  does  she  say  —  she  saw  her  lover, 
Sydney  Vance,  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  gasped  the  affrighted  woman,  "she 
saw  him  fly." 

"And  Mr.  Vernon" 

"Accused  him  of  murdering  him." 
"  Oh,  impossible  ! "  gasped  the  incredulous 
Le  Britta.  "  But  murder  has  been  done. 
The  assassin  cannot  have  gone  far.  Quick, 
Mrs.  Darrell !  remove  that  distracted  creature 
from  this  room,  quiet  her,  restrain  her,  or  I 
ft-ar  for  her  mind.  I  will  scour  the  shrubbery 
and  summon  help.  Yes,  he  is  dead,"  mur- 
mured Le  Britta  in  a  broken  tone  of  voice,  as 
he  gazed  at  the  white,  colorless  face  of  Ver- 
non. 

He  sprang  through  the  window,  and  for 
half  an  hour  threaded  every  maze  in  the  gar- 
den and  its  vicinity.  All  in  vain  !  If  Sydney 


72 

Vance  had  been  there,  he  had  mysteriously 
disappeared.  As  to  Durand,  whose  handi- 
work in  the  crime  of  the  hour  Le  Britta  was 
quick  to  suspect,  he  had  vanished  as  effect- 
ually as  though  the  earth  had  opened  and 
swallowed  him  up. 

He  hurried  to  the  nearest  house  and  an- 
nounced the  tragedy  of  the  hour  to  its  start- 
led inmates.  Soon  a  messenger  was  speed- 
ing on  horseback  for  the  village,  with  orders 
to  secure  a  physician. 

He  arrived  an  hour  later,  as  fast  as  breath- 
less haste  could  bring  him.  Neighbors  had 
crowded  the  house  in  the  meantime.  Like 
wildfire  the  news  spread  that  old  Gideon 
Vernon  had  been  murdered  and  robbed. 

The  house  was  a  scene  of  pitiful  commo- 
tion, but  amid  it  all,  feeling  the  grave  respon- 
sibility that  rested  upon  him,  Jera  Le  Britta 
kept  his  head,  and  tried  to  act  calmly. 

Gladys,  immersed  in  grief  and-emotion,  had 
been  removed  to  her  own  room.  The  house- 
keeper had  been  warned  by  Le  Britta^not  to 
mention  what  she  had  heard  concerning 
Sydney  Vance.  In  his  own  mind  Le  Britta  had 
formed  a  reasonable  theory  as  to  the  crime. 
Its  perpetrator,  beyond  doubt,  to  his  way  ot 


73 

thinking,  was  the  villain  Durand.  Sydney 
had  come  to  make  his  peace  with  Vernon, 
had  appeared  in  time  to  be  mistaken  for  the 
murderer,  had  certainly  gone  to  pursue  the 
real  assassin ;  but  why  did  he  not  come  back 
to  the  house  of  grief  to  explain  it  all  ? 

The  doctor  pronounced  Gideon  Vernon 
beyond  the  reach  of  all  earthly  ministrations, 
and  Gladys  in  a  dangerously  hysterical  con- 
dition. He  administered  a  soothing  draught 
to  the  distracted  girl,  and  left  directions  with 
Le  Britta  to  send  for  him  if  she  got  worse. 
Then  Le  Britta  sent  the  housekeeper  to  at- 
tend to  her  young  mistress,  and  it  was  not 
until  nearly  midnight  that  he  sat  down  in  the 
apartment  adjoining  the  sick  room  to  keep 
his  solitary  watch  over  the  dead,  the  under- 
taker having  arrived  from  the  village,  and 
prepared  the  body  for  burial  the  following 
day. 

It  had  been  a  hard  day  for  him,  and  that 
day  had  scored  a  most  distressing  termina- 
tion for  the  fair  young  girl  he  had  hoped  to 
aid  in  her  troubles. 

Tap  !  tap  ! 

Le  Britta  arose  as  he  heard  some  one 
knock  gently  at  the  outside  porch  door.  He 


74 

opened   it.      A    man,     roughly    dressed    but 

honest-faced,   stepped  across   the  threshold. 

"Who  are  you?"  demanded  Le  Britta, 
suspiciously. 

"An  officer  from  the  village.  I  heard 
about  the  case  when  the  doctor  was  sent  for, 
and  came  soon  after." 

"  I  did  not  see  you,"  remarked  Le  Britta,  a 
trifle  uneasily,  hoping  to  evade  official  in- 
vestigation of  the  case  until  he  had  con- 
versed with  Gladys,  and  learned  of  the 
whereabouts  of  Sydney  Vance. 

"  No,  that's  true.  I  always  work  in  the 
dark  on  a  dubious  case  of  this  kind." 

"Dubious?" 

"  Exactly.  Wasn't  it  murder  ?  "  demanded 
the  officer,  sharply. 

"I  think  it  was." 

'Think?  You  know  it!  Come,  sir!  I 
understand  your  motive  in  trying  to  shield  a 
person  presumably  innocent,  but  it's  no  use." 

"Then" 

'  The  murderer  is,  of  course,  Sydney 
Vance." 

Le  Britta's  heart  sank.  He  was  certain 
that  this  could  not  be  —  that  young  Vance 
was  only  the  victim  of  circumstances,  but 


75 

how  to  prove  that  fact,  once  the  hue  and  cry 
was  raised  over  the  person  last  seen  in  the 
room  with  the  murdered  man. 

"  Why  do  you  think  that?  "  he  faltered. 

"I  don't  think  it,  I  know  it,"  proclaimed 
the  officer,  stanchly. 

"Why?" 

"The  housekeeper's  story" 

'  What !  she  has  been  talking-  ?"  ejaculated 
Le  Britta,  in  dismay. 

"  I  made  her,  and  her  story  proves  beyond 
any  doubt  that  there  was  a  quarrel  between 
Vernon  and  young-  Vance,  that  Miss  Vernon 
saw  Vance  fly  from  the  room,  that  the  last 
words  of  the  murdered  man  charged  Vance 
with  the  crime." 

"  But,  the  evidence" 

"  Is  plain.  The  testimony  of  Miss  Vernon 
alone,"  announced  the  officer,  in  tones  of 
pitiless,  professional  precision,  "unsupported 
by  any  other  evidence,  will  send  Sydney 
Vance  to  the  gallows  !" 

There  was  a  heart-rending  moan  in  the  hall- 
way without,  and  then  a  fall. 

And,  springing  to  the  door,  with  conster- 
nation and  alarm,  Le  Britta  saw  Gladys  Ver- 


76 

non  lying  senseless  on  the  rich  axminster 
carpet. 

She  had  stolen  from  her  room  to  speak  to 
him  ;  she  had  lingered  at  that  half-open  door. 

She  had  learned  all.  She  knew  that  her 
lover,  her  innocent  lover,  was  charged  with 
hideous,  baleful  crime,  and  her  words  had 
doomed  him  ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BLANK ! 

THE  funeral  was  over,  the  last  sad  rites  had 
been  performed,  dust  unto  dust  had  been 
returned,  and  after  a  stormy  existence  of 
power,  pride  and  pain,  old  Gideon  Vernon 
had  gone  the  way  of  all  flesh. 

There  were  very  few  at  the  ceremony - 
the  attendant  physician,  Doctor  Winston ; 
the  village  lawyer,  several  of  the  neighbors 
only.  Vernon  had  lived  almost  the  life  of  a 
recluse,  and  had  never  been  the  man  to  make 
many  friends. 

Gladys  had  not  gone  with  the  carriages  to 
the  cemetery.  When  Le  Britta  had  found 
her  outside  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  he 


77 

had  held  that  startling  interview  with  the  vil- 
lage police  officer,  it  was  to  convey  her  to 
her  own  apartment  again,  where  she  revived 
only  to  go  through  the  most  poignant  hys- 
terical grief  and  despair. 

The  doctor,  again  summoned,  ordered 
positively  that  she  be  kept  under  the  influ- 
ence of  sedatives  until  after  the  funeral,  and 
that  the  housekeeper  should  keep  close  watch 
and  ward  over  her  afflicted  young  mistress. 

Le  Britta  was  nearly  worn  out  with  sleep- 
lessness and  care.  He  felt  that  the  gloom  of 
the  hour  would  abide  with  him  for  a  long 
time  to  come,  and  he  was  glad  when  the  body 
of  the  murdered  man  was  consigned  to  its 
tomb.  The  inquest,  the  commotion,  the  pry- 
ing, watchful  officer  ;  all  this  jarred  on  his 
finer  sensibilities,  and  he  breathed  a  sigh  of 
infinite  relief  as  he  returned  to  the  house 
from  the  cemetery,  to  observe  Doctor  Win- 
ston, Mr.  Munson,  the  lawyer,  seated  in  the 
library,  looking  grave  and  thoughtful. 

At  the  door  outside,  too,  Le  Britta  met  the 
officer. 

"Have  you  found  any  trace  of  the  sup- 
posed assassin?  "  inquired  the  photographer. 

"  None,"  responded  the  other. 


"  Is  not  that  singular  ?  " 

"Not  at  all,  seeing  that  a  box  filled  with 
money  is  missing.  Sydney  Vance  had  good 
reason  to  fly  and  hide  with  that  treasure." 

"  You  will  persist  that  he  is  the  criminal  ?  " 

"The  coroner's  jury  decided  so  on  my 
plain  statement.  What  would  a  court  of 
justice  say  with  the  added  testimony  of  Miss 
Vernon  ?  " 

What  ?  indeed !  Le  Britta's  heart  sank  at 
the  thought.  Should  young  Vance  ever  re- 
turn, it  would  be  to  fill  a  felon's  cell.  Per- 
haps, realizing  all  this,  and  knowing  that 
Gladys'  welfare  was  menaced  by  the  real 
murderer,  he  was  determined  to  conceal  him- 
self, to  preserve  his  liberty,  rather  than  face 
an  overwhelming,  crushing  accusation  he 
could  not  refute. 

In  the  library,  Doctor  Winston  and  Mr. 
Munson  bowed  gravely,  as  Le  Britta  entered 
the  room,  and  the  latter  remarked : 

"  I  do  not  know  what  this  afflicted  family 
would  have  done  without  you,  Mr.  Le  Britta.* 

The    photographer    bowed  deprecatingly. 

"  Circumstances  forced  my  slight  services," 
he  said,  unaffectedly. 

"  True,  but  they  have  been  valuable  ones. 


79 

Doctor  Winston  has  just  had  a  conversation 
with  poor  Gladys.  He  tells  me  there  is  a 
new  will,  and  much  more  about  a  dreaded 
enemy  of  Mr.  Vernon,  that  induces  me  to 
take  immediate  steps,  as  his  local  legal  adviser, 
to  secure  to  her  the  rights  the  will  gives  her." 

"Eminently  proper,"  nodded  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  asserted  Le  Britta. 

"  Gladys  says  she  will  be  here  in  a  few 
moments,  weak  as  she  is,  realizing  the  neces- 
sity of  following  out  the  wishes  of  her  dead 
uncle,  anxious  not  to  detain  you  from  your 
business,  and  desirous  of  leaving  this  gloomy 
house  to  make  her  home  with  your  fellow- 
guardian,  Doctor  Winston  here." 

Le  Britta's  face  brightened,  as  he  realized 
that  under  the  charge  of  the  benevolent  old 
physician  and  his  wife,  Gladys  would  find  a 
safe  and  pleasant  home. 

He  hastened  to  open  the  door,  as  a  faint 
tapping  sounded  upon  its  ojatside  portals. 

Gladys  Vernon,  pale,  and  with  eyes  droop- 
ing from  long  grief,  entered  the  apartment. 

She  pressed  Le  Britta's  proffered  hand 
with  grateful  emotion,  and  then,  half-hiding 
her  face  in  her  hand,  sat  like  one  performing 
a  painful  duty  near  the  table. 


8o 

"  We  will  only  go  through  the  mere  for- 
malities of  examining  the  will,  Miss  Vernon," 
spoke  Mr.  Munson,  in  a  kindly  tone  of  voice. 
"  We  will  read  it,  verify  the  signatures,  and  I 
will  take  it  and  file  it  in  the  court,  to  make  it 
safe  from  any  interference  of  interested  out- 
siders. You  understand  ?  " 

Gladys  murmured  a  faint  affirmative. 

"  Doctor  Winston  will  convey  you  at  once 
to  his  home.  The  housekeeper  can  retain 
charge  here  until  we  decide  what  to  do  with 
the  mansion." 

"  Dispose  of  it,  close  it  up  !  "  breathed 
Gladys,  in  a  fear-filled,  shuddering  tone. 
"  I  could  never  live  again  beneath  the  roof 
where  my  beloved  uncle  met  his  doom,  where 
my  heart  broke  " 

She  paused,  amid  hot,  blinding  tears. 

"If  your  thoughts  are  of  the  accused  mur- 
derer," interrupted  Le  Britta,  "take  courage, 
Miss  Vernon  !  You  know,  and  I  know,  that 
Sydney  Vance  is  innocent ;  you  know,  and  I 
know,  the  real  assassin.  Fear  not !  The 
truth  is  mighty,  and  it  shall  prevail  !  All  that 
justice  can  do  to  trace  this  terrible  crime  to 
its  real  perpetrator,  will  be  done. 

"Try  not  to  distress  yourself  over  all  that 


8i 

just  now,"  spoke  the  lawyer.     "  Your  uncle 
made  a  new  will,  Miss  Vernon." 

"  Yes  —  last  night." 

"  Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  He  gave  it  to  me  for  safe-keeping." 

Gladys  drew  the  same  enveloped  and 
sealed  document  from  her  pocket  that  Le 
Britta  had  seen  her  uncle  give  her  the  day 
previous. 

"  It  has  not  left  your  possession  since  it 
was  delivered  to  you  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Mun- 
son. 

"Oh!  no." 

"This  is  the  same  document  —  you  can 
swear  to  it." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"These  are  merely  formal  questions,"  pro- 
ceeded the  lawyer.  "We  all  know  the  con- 
tents of  the  will,  but  I  will  read  it  over  for 
form's  sake." 

Rip  —  rip  —  rip.  The  somber  silence  of 
the  room  was  broken  only  by  Gladys' .  soft 
crying,  and  the  tearing  open  of  the  end  of 
the  envelope. 

The  lawyer  drew  out  the  single  document 
it  contained. 

He  opened  it,  glanced  at  it,  stared  at  it, 

6 


82 

glared  at  it,  arose  to  his  feet,  and  uttered  a 
quick  ejaculation. 

"Why!  what's  the  matter,  Munson?" 
demanded  the  doctor,  startled  at  his  com- 
panion's sudden  excitement  of  manner. 

"This  paper" 

"The  will?" 

"  It  is  no  will  !  " 

"Why'% 

"There  is  some  mistake." 

"  Mistake  ? "  murmured  Le  Britta,  not  un- 
prepared for  strange  surprises  under  that 
strange  roof,  after  all  the  extraordinary  oc- 
currences that  had  signalized  his  brief  sojourn 
there. 

"Yes,  this  is  no  will.     Look!" 

The  lawyer  held  out  the  paper. 

His  own  face  was  perturbed,  the  doctor 
stared  bewilderingly,  Le  Britta's  eyes  glowed 
with  dark  suspicion,  Gladys  gasped  affright- 
edly. 

For  the  page,  one  side  and  reverse,  front 
and  back,  was  —  blank  ! 


CHAPTER  X. 
THE  PLOTTER'S  VICTORY. 

"BLANK!"  ejaculated  the  doctor,  dubi- 
ously. 

"  Blank  !  "  murmured  Gladys,  with  incredu- 
lity. 

"  Blank,"  assented  Mr.  Munson,  turning 
the  paper  in  his  hand  over  and  over.  "  See 
for  yourselves  !  " 

"  Impossible  !  "  gasped  Gladys,  startled 
out  of  her  grief  by  the  remarkable  develop- 
ment of  the  moment.  "Uncle  gave  it  to  me, 
I  saw  it  written,  sealed.  The  envelope  has 
never  left  my  possession  since." 

Blank  wonderment  and  consternation  were 
depicted  on  every  face,  save  that  of  Le 
Britta. 

He  had  risen  to  his  feet.  His  brows  knit, 
his  lips  set  sternly,  he  stood  like  one  study- 
ing out  a  difficult  problem. 

"  Please  allow  me  to  examine  that  docu- 
ment, Mr.  Munson,"  he  spoke  at  last. 

There  was  an  ominous  something  in  his 
manner  that  silenced  the  others,  and  en- 
chained their  attention. 


With  the  eye  of  an  analyst  he  was  scan- 
ning the  blank  sheet  of  paper. 

"A  slight  discoloration.  All  form  blended 
into  an  indistinguishable  mass,"  he  half  mur- 
mured. "  The  fiber  unbroken,  a  slight  scent 
of  acid.  Gentlemen,"  to  the  engrossed  and 
watching  doctor  and  lawyer,  "trickery  has 
been  at  work  here,  jugglery,  plotting  !  " 

"  You  also  think  it  is  the  same  paper  upon 
which  Mr.  Vernon  drew  out  his  will  ? " 
queried  the  lawyer. 

"  I  know  it." 

"  But,  it  is  blank  ?  " 

"It  was  not  blank  last  evening." 

"Then"- 

"  Wait  here  a  moment.  I  think  I  under- 
stand what  has  occurred." 

Le  Britta  left  the  apartment,  and  went 
straight  to  the  now  vacant  sick-room. 

He  took  up  the  oxidized  ink-stank  that  had 
played  a  part  in  the  writing  of  the  will,  and 
that  self-same  part  of  a  correspondence  equip- 
ment which  the  reader  will  remember  had 
been  handled  by  the  lurking  Ralph  Durand. 

He  returned  to  the  library  with  it  in  his 
hand,  placed  it  on  the  table,  dipped  a  piece 
of  paper  into  the  contents  of  the  ink  wells, 


85 

smelled,  it,  tasted  it,  dried  it  at  the  lamp,  and 
then  sat  down  with  a  discomposed  yet  sat- 
isfied face. 

"  It  is  as  I  feared,"  he  murmured. 
'What   do   you    mean?"    demanded   the 
doctor,  on  the  keen  edge  of  vivid  suspense. 

"  Trickery  !  " 

"Explain  yourself." 

"  I  will.  I  noticed  yesterday,  when  Mr. 
Vernon  had  completed  writing  the  will,  that 
the  ink  looked  faded.  You  remember,  Miss 
Vernon,  your  uncle  complained  of  it  himself." 

"Yes,  and  I  attributed  it  to  his  failing  eye- 
sight," murmured  Gladys. 

"And  I  feared  disturbing  and  annoying 
him  in  his  nervous  condition,"  said  Le  Britta. 
'The  ink  he  used  was  no  ink,  it  was  not 
even  a  stain.  Some  one  had  substituted  for 
the  real  ink  an  acid,  a  volatile  chemical  — 
none  other  than  tincture  of  iodine." 

"  But  it  wrote,"  began  the  lawyer. 

'  Yes,  it  resembles  faded  brown  ink,  and 
so  deceived  us.  It  does  not  even  penetrate 
the  fibers  of  the  paper,  and  within  twenty- 
four  hours  it  vanishes,  evaporates,  leaving  no 
trace.  I  am  sorry,  but  we  have  been  tricked. 


86 

The  will  is  no  will  at  all  —  it  is  mere  waste 
paper ! " 

Gladys  looked  frightfully  startled. 

"  Can  we  not  prove  that  he  did  write  a  new 
will,"  she  began. 

"No,"  dissented  the  lawyer.  "Unless  you 
can  produce  a  new  will,  written,  signed,  wit- 
nessed, the  old  will  is  valid." 

"'  And  that  man,  who  probably  connived  at 
all  this,"  wailed  Gladys,  sudderingly,  "Ralph 
Durand,  is  my  legal  guardian." 

"  Oh  !  that  cannot  be  !  "  gasped  Le  Britta, 
realizing  the  full  import  of  Gladys'  words. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true.  Gentlemen,  pardon  me 
for  playing  the  eavesdropper,  but  I  am  keenly 
alive  to  my  own  rights  and  interests.  I  ap- 
pear to  put  in  my  claim  as  the  conservator  of 
dead  Gideon  Vernon's  estate,  and  the  legal 
guardian  of  that  young  lady  —  Gladys  Ver- 
non  ! " 

The  blow  had  fallen  —  the  denouement  had 
come  !  The  door  had  opened,  and  a  new 
figure  had  intruded  upon  the  scene. 

At  him  Gladys  Vernon  stared  aghast.  It 
was  Ralph  Durand ! 

But  no  longer  the  ragged,  uncouth  tramp ! 
Arrayed  in  immaculate  broadcloth,  clean- 


8; 

shaven,  a  perfect  fashion-plate  of  propriety, 
the  marplot  of  her  existence  stood  revealed. 

The  wicked  eyes  flashed  triumphantly,  the 
bold  lips  wore  a  mocking  sneer  of  victory. 

"  You  look  annoyed,"  he  spoke.  "  You 
need  not  be.  I  come  here  in  entire  harmony 
with  the  rulings  of  law  and  right.  This 
young  lady  and  her  picture-making  friend 
may  rave  about  destroyed  wills,  murdered 
guardians  and  all  that,  but,  under  the  provi- 
sion of  the  one  and  only  legal  will  of  dead 
Gideon  Vernon,  I  now  and  here  take  charge 
of  his  estate,  and  of  his  niece  until  she  at- 
tains her  majority." 

"  Lead  me  from  the  presence  of  that 
man !  " 

Slowly  rising  to  her  feet,  Gladys,  half- 
fainting,  spoke  the  words  to  Le  Britta. 

'  Wait  a  moment !  "  cried  Durand,  in 
sharp,  imperious  accent.  "  You  know  the 
plain  state  of  the  case.  It  will  be  the  worse 
for  those  who  attempt  to  dislodge  or  under- 
mine me.  I  am  master  here.  I  will  brook 
no  rebellion.  Miss  Vernon,  I  will  be  a  friend 
to  you  if  you  allow  me,  but,  strictly,  im- 
partially, I  shall  act  the  guardian,  as  directed 


88 

by  the  will  of  your  uncle,  now  locked  up  in 
the  strong  boxes  of  his  city  lawyers." 

Dumfounded,  the  lawyer  and  the  doctor 
arose  to  leave  the  room,  as  Le  Britta  returned 
from  leading  Gladys  to  the  stairs. 

The  insolent  Durand  directed  a  last  sneer- 
ing word  to  Le  Britta,  as  the  latter  accom- 
panied them  from  the  apartment. 

We  can  dispense  with  your  friendly  serv- 
ices after  this,"  he  said.  "I  will  have  your 
traps  packed  for  you  within  an  hour." 

Le  Britta  bit  his  lip,  but  did  not  reply. 
He  was  too  overpowered  to  realize  it  all  just 
then. 

For  two  hours,  outside  the  mansion 
grounds,  the  lawyer,  the  doctor  and  the  pho- 
tographer discussed  the  situation. 

"  That  scoundrel,  Ralph  Durand,  substi- 
tuted the  acid  for  the  ink,  he  probably  mur- 
dered Gideon  Vernon,  he  also  possibly  knows 
of  the  fate  of  Sydney  Vance,  but  what  can 
we  do  on  mere  suspicion,"  spoke  the  lawyer. 
"  Gentlemen,  we  must  have  patience.  Doc- 
tor, you  must  feign  to  gracefully  accept  the 
situation,  so  as  to  be  near  Gladys.  Mr.  Le 
Britta,  you  must  leave  for  home  at  once." 

"And   Miss  Vernon   must   be   left  to  the 


mercy  of  that  monster ! "  cried  Le  Britta, 
excitedly. 

"  He  dare  not  harm  her.  Trust  me.  He 
shall  go  through  the  farce  of  guardianship, 
but,  before  another  day  is  passed,  a  skillful 
detective  shall  be  ferreting  out  all  this  mys- 
tery. You  shall  hear  from  me  regularly. 
We  are  not  done  with  this  knave  and  assas- 
sin yet." 

Le  Britta  accompanied  his  two  friends  to 
the  village.  He  tortured  his  mind  all  that 
afternoon  for  some  plan  to  defeat,  to  dislodge 
Ralph  Durand.  At  last,  feeling  that  he  could 
do  no  more  to  aid  the  imperiled  Gladys  Ver- 
non,  that  the  doctor  and  lawyer  would  watch 
her  interests,  that  the  worst  that  Durand 
could  do  would  be  to  pilfer  from  the  estate  for 
the  year  that  intervened  until  she  had  at- 
tained her  majority,  he  walked  back  to  Haw- 
thorne villa  to  say  good-by  to  Gladys. 

At  its  portals,  the  housekeeper  met  him, 
with  a  white,  scared  face. 

She  held  a  folded  note  between  her  fingers, 
which  she  extended  tremulously. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Le  Britta  !  "  she  gasped.  "  Miss 
Gladys  "- 

"  She  is  worse  ?  she" 


90 

"No,  sir,  but"— 

"Mercy!  Gone!  fled!"  ejaculated  the 
petrified  Le  Britta,  as  he  scanned  the  note. 

Yes,  hours  since.  The  brief  note,  thank- 
ing him  for  his  past  kindness,  told  that 
Gladys  Vernon,  the  orphan's  prayer  for  help 
and  guidance  on  her  -lips,  had  fled  forever 
from  the  power  of  Ralph  Durand  —  had  gone 
forth,  friendless,  homeless,  a  beggar,  to  battle 
alone  with  the  cold,  cruel  world,  beyond  the 
gates  of  the  once-peaceful  haven  she  had 
called  home  ! 


CHAPTER  XI. 
HOME  ! 

"So  ends  the  most  exciting  chapter  of  my 
life!" 

Jera  Le  Britta  spoke  the  words,  two  days 
after  the  occurrence  of  the  startling  events 
depicted  in  the  preceding  chapter. 

Once  more  the  tourist,  he  had  paused  to 
view  a  scene  that  marked  the  end  of  his 
journey  and  his  brief  vacation,  at  the  same 
time. 

From  a  pretty  wooded  vale  he  scanned  the 
landscape,  bounded  on  one  side  by  a  thriving 


91 

little  city,  the  buildings  of  which  gleamed 
white  and  majestic  in  the  bright  sunlight. 

No  wonder  •  his  eye  sparkled !  There,  a 
few  years  previous,  he  had  come  as  a 
stranger.  Now,  a  hundred  cordial  friends 
would  grasp  his  hand,  and  give  him  a  hearty 
home  welcome. 

There,  his  art,  his  affections,  his  whole  life 
were  centered.  No  wonder  he  seemed  to 
emerge  from  cloudland  and  gloom  into  gold- 
en sunshine  and  happiness,  for  wife,  children 
friends  were  encompassed  within  the  limits 
of  the  town  upon  which  he  now  gazed. 

He  loved  the  little  city  for  its  beauty,  for 
its  people,  for  the  success  it  had  awarded  his 
patient  efforts  for  appreciation.  As  in  a 
dream,  he  saw  it,  a  quarter  of  a  century  past, 
a  mere  struggling  settlement ;  he  saw  it,  in 
its  prosperous  present,  a  beautiful  city  of 
ideal  homes  and  temples  of  commerce,  and, 
with  the  eye  prophetic,  too,  he  saw  a  grander 
city  grow  from  this  nucleus  of  enterprise  ; 
he  pictured  vast  industrial  palaces,  majestic 
marts  of  trade,  mammoth  public  edifices, 
until  it  had  become  a  queen  among  the  cities 
of  the  plain — a  haven  of  wealth,  prosperity 
and  peace. 


92 

Here  he  must  again  take  up  life,  but  he 
could  not  forget  the  past.  Ah,  no !  That 
sympathetic  heart  of  his  went  back  to  Haw- 
thorne villa  in  sad  memory.  He  knew  that 
his  nature  would  not  allow  him  to  forget,  or 
to  remain  idle.  As  soon  as  he  got  his  busi- 
ness affairs  in  shape  he  would  return  to  see 
Doctor  Winston  and  Lawyer  Munson,  and 
learn  what  new  developments  had  occurred 
in  the  case  of  the  fugitive  orphan  niece  of 
murdered  Gideon  Vernon: 

Gladys  had  fled,  and  the  most  persistent 
search  had  revealed  not  the  slightest  trace  of 
her  whereabouts. 

In  her  brief  letter  to  Le  Britta,  she  had 
thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  but  she  had 
stated  that  she  could  not  remain  under  the 
same  roof  with  the  assassin  of  her  beloved 
uncle,  she  could  not  linger,  to  be  confronted 
with  her  innocent  lover,  Sydney  Vance,  and 
have  her  involuntary  testimony  send  him  to 
the  gallows.  She  would  go  to  some  distant 
place,  she  told  him,  and  would  work  in 
obscurity  until  she  was  eighteen  years  of  age. 
Then,  her  own  mistress,  she  would  return,  to 
devote  life,  energies  and  fortune  to  hunting 
down  the  real  criminal,  and  clear  her  lover 


93 

from  the  hideous   charge  circumstances  had 
placed  against  his  fair  name. 

At  Hawthorne  villa,  secure  in  his  insolence, 
the  scoundrelly  Ralph  Durand  defied  lawyer 
and  friends  of  the  missing  Gladys.  He  was 
comfortably  ensconced  in  a  well-feathered 
nest.  He  had  his  scheme  to  work,  wealth 
was  at  his  disposal,  but — with  his  knowledge 
of  how  surely  evil  brings  its  own  eventual 
retribution,  Jera  Le  Britta  realized  that  his 
hour  of  downfall  would  yet  surely  come  ! 

He  had  packed  up  his  camera,  and  had  not 
taken  a  picture  since  leaving  Hawthorne 
villa.  As,  now,  he  neared  the  neat,  pretty 
house  that  held  all  that  he  regarded  as  dear- 
est on  earth,  he  tried  to  put  aside  his  cares 
concerning  Gladys  Vernon,  to  drive  away, 
temporarily,  the  conviction  that  he  was  yet  to 
become  again  interested  in  her  destiny,  as 
the  loving  arms  of  his  beautiful  wife  enfolded 

*j 

him,  and  two  charming  tots  clambered  to  his 
knee. 

Smiling  faces  and  hearty  handclasps  greet- 
ed him  as,  later,  he  started  for  his  studio.  It 
was  located  on  the  main  street  of  the  town, 
and  chosen  with  a  view  to  central  location, 
accessibility  and  rare  requisites  of  light  and 


94 

convenience.  It  seemed  like  getting  back 
among  old  friends  to  enter  the  elegant  re- 
ception-room, furnished  throughout  with 
neatness  and  taste,  and  containing  a  great 
variety  of  superb  specimens  of  the  photo-- 
graphic art.  The  attractive  frames  and 
mountings  were  a  study  in  themselves. 
Here,  the  eye  feasted  upon  the  rarely-beauti- 
ful ;  here,  were  ideals  of  feminine  grace  and 
attractiveness — infancy,  youth,  maturity,  old 
age,  of  the  north  land,  of  the  south  land, 
Greek,  American,  Italian,  French,  Anglo- 
Saxon,  German,  in  profile  and  expression  of 
features  —  all  were  represented. 

La  Britta  passed  through  this  gallery  of 
art,  crowded  with  specimens  of  his  own  deft 
handiwork,  and  passed  into  the  operating 
room  of  the  studio. 

Costly  cameras,  and  all  the  accessories  of 
the  profession,  showed  in  practical  profusion 
here,  and  engaged  in  placing  the  last  artistic 
finishing  touches  to  an  expensive  picture  was 
a  pretty,  graceful  young  lady — the  photog- 
rapher's valued  assistant  Maud.  Her  sym- 
pathetic face  broke  into  a  glad  smile  of  wel- 
come, as  she  recognized  her  employer.  An 
artistic  workman,  graduated  from  the  best 


95 

schools  of  photography,  her  work  was  always 
so  realistically  true,  that  she  knew  that  dur- 
ing his  brief  absence  she  had  followed  out 
the  instructions  faithfully  he  had  given  her, 
and  would  win  only  the  highest  praise  from 
his  lips,  for  her  devoted  watch  and  ward  of 
his  interests. 

"  We  expected  you  two  days  since,"  said 
Maud. 

"  Yes,  but  I  was  delayed  unexpectedly," 
replied  Le  Britta.  "  Letters,  orders.  Here  is 
work  for  some  days  to  come." 

"And  here  a  visitor  for  some  hours  to 
come,  I  fear,"  exclaimed  Maud,  laughingly, 
as  a  light  footstep  sounded  in  the  adjoining 
apartment.  "  He  has  been  here  inquiring 
for  you  every  day,  as  if  you  were  a  long-lost 
son." 

"  Dick ! "  ejaculated  Le  Britta,  with  a 
bright  smile,  extending  his  hand  to  a  rather 
tall,  handsome,  professional-looking  man, 
who  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  operating- 
room  at  just  that  moment,  and  in  whom  he 
recognized  his  dearest  friend,  Dr.  Richard 
Milton. 

"  It's  a  sight  for  sore  eyes  to  see  you  back 
again,"  said  the  young  physician,  heartily. 


96 

Letters  and  orders  were  forgotten  in  the 
chit-chat  of  two  friends,  long  parted,  for  the 
next  hour.  Le  Britta  had  requested  his 
charming  assistant  to  open  his  tourist  camera 
and  put  the  exposures  in  the  developing  bath, 
and  an  hour  later,  as  Doctor  Milton  was  giv- 
ing the  details  of  a  difficult  surgical  operation 
he  had  just  completed,  Miss  Maud  appeared 
at  the  door  of  the  room  where  the  two 
friends  sat,  with  half  a  dozen  glass  plates  in 
her  hand. 

"Ah  !  developed  them  ?  "  smiled  Le  Britta. 
"  I'll  show  you  some  of  the  views  I  took  on 
my  tramp,  Dick.  Here  is  a  storm  effect  ; 
here  is  a  waterfall  view,  and  here  " 

Jera  Le  Britta  paused  as  if  dealt  a  sudden 
blow,  and  stared  like  one  abruptly  bereft  of 
reason  at  the  plate  in  his  fingers. 

Like  a  flash,  recalling  all  the  eventful 
scenes  of  Hawthorne  villa,  with  a  shock,  a 
single  glance  sent  the  blood  to  his  heart,  and 
checked  immediate  utterance. 

For,  in  that  single,  startled,  stunned  look 
at  the  little  glass  plate,  Jera  Le  Britta  had 
made  the  most  extraordinary  discovery  of  all 
his  eventful  life ! 


97 
CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    UNEXPECTED. 

PHOTOGRAPHY  is  a  wonderful  art.  In  a 
creative  sense,  it  outstrips  any  other  kindred 
science  with  the  rapidity  and  accuracy  of  its 
operation  ;  in  a  preservative  sense,  it  enables 
us  to  perpetuate  a  fac-simile  of  the  most 
wonderful  crumbling  antique  specimen  of 
architecture.  True  to  its  focus  as  an  arrow 
to  the  target,  it  can  always  be  depended 
upon,  when  a  skilled  hand  manipulates  the 
camera. 

All  this  Jera  Le  Britta  had  thought  of  a 
thousand  times.  It  flashed  through  his  mind 
now  as,  staring  at  the  glass  negative  in  his 
hand,  he  could  scarcely  credit  the  evidence 
of  his  senses.  Combined  with  those  medita- 
tions, however,  a  new  phase  of  the  art  had 
been  vividly  presented  —  the  unexpected  in 
the  photographic. 

For  the  unexpected  confronted  him.  A 
problem  and  a  surprise  greeted  his  vision. 
A  careful  man,  a  methodical  man,  no  wonder 
that  he  was  deeply  stirred ! 

In  the  first  place,  the  plate  before  him  bore 
outlines  marked,  vivid,  distinct,  peculiar. 


Furthermore,  he  had  "never  pressed  the 
button  "  to  take  that  picture  ! 

Lastly',  the  impress  on  the  plate  revived  all 
the  past  regarding-  his  strange  adventures  at 
Hawthorne  villa  with  a  rush  that  overpowered 
him. 

First  wonder,  then  speculation,  then  a 
dawning,  thrilling  triumph  illumined  his  eyes. 

His  companion,  startled  to  silence  and  curi- 
osity by  his  strange  pose,  studied  the  varying 
expression  of  Le  Britta's  intelligent  face  with 
a  questioning  look. 

But  Dr.  Richard  Milton's  companion  was 
too  engrossed  in  his  penetrating  survey  of 
the  little  glass  plate  to  note  extraneous  occur- 
rences or  distracting  influences. 

"Wonderful  !"  he  gasped  at  last,  and  his 
quick  eyes  sought  out  every  line  and  shadow 
on  the  negative. 

"  Providential  !  "  he  whispered  to  himself, 
almost  reverently,  a  moment  later. 

Yes,  truly  wonderful,  truly  providential  was 
the  manifestation  of  the  moment. 

For  the  plate  bore  a  representation  of  half 
the  table  where  he  had  placed  his  camera  the 
day  of  his  interview  with  Gideon  Vernon,  the 
dead  master  of  Hawthorne  villa. 


99 

It  did  something-  more  —  it  revealed  a  pile 
of  books,  the  medicine  case  of  the  recluse, 
and,  propped  up  across  it  carelessly,  the  last 
valid  will  and  testament  of  the  uncle  of  miss- 
ing Gladys  Vernon. 

"  Yes,  there  it  was,  line  for  line,  word  for 
word,  signatures  of  witnesses,  seals,  all ! 
Plain  as  day,  accurate  as  the  original  instru- 
ment itself,  the  glass  plate  bore  the  chronicle 
of  the  precious  document  that  baffled  all  the 
evil  schemes  and  pretenses  of  wicked  Ralph 
Durand,  that  had  been  written  with  tincture 
of  iodine,  and,  fading  out  as  the  schemer  had 
planned,  had  later  presented  only  a  blank, 
worthless  sheet  of  paper,  leaving  the  plotter 
master  of  the  situation,  and  censor  of  inno- 
cent, imperiled  Gladys  Vernon's  life. 

What  did  it  mean,  how  came  that  picture 
in  the  camera?  Of  a  surety,  Jera  La  Britta 
had  not  touched  slide,  button  or  shutter  since 
the  hour  that  he  took  the  picture  of  pretty 
Gladys  in  the  rain-sparkling  arbor,  where  the 
evil,  sinister  face  of  Ralph  Durand  had  ap- 
peared, except  to  prepare'  that  same  picture 
in  a  dark  room  with  his  ruby  lamp  at  thn 
Vernon  mansion. 

His  keen   memory,  however,  earful  of  dc- 


100 

tails,  stored  well  with  mental  history  of  the 
near  past,  supplied  the  missing  link  of  augury 
and  conjecture. 

He  had  placed  his  camera  on  the  table  in 
the  sick-room,  after  showing  the  invalid, 
Gideon  Vernon,  the  picture  that  had  revealed 
to  the  latter  the  identity  of  a  dreaded  enemy. 
There  it  had  remained  during  their  long  in- 
terview. He  recalled  the  signing  of  the  will, 
he  remembered  how  Gideon  Vernon  had 
spread  the  document  out  for  the  ink  to  dry 
ere  he  folded  it  up  and  delivered  it  into  the 
keeping  of  Gladys  Vernon,  and  he  remem- 
bered, too,  how  Gladys,  anxious  and 
agitated  over  all  her  uncle's  excitement,  had 
nervously  handled  the  camera,  clicking  it  un- 
consciously, until  he  had  laughingly  warned 
her  that  "  it  was  loaded  !  " 

She  must,  then,  have  touched  the  button 
at  that  moment  of  careless  fumbling  with  the 
apparatus.  By  a  strange  caprice  of  circum- 
stances, the  will  lay  just  within  focus  of  the 
instrument.  Click  !  snap  !  the  faithful  little 
monitor  of  photography  had  done  its  duty, 
swiftly  and  completely.  The  will  had  been 
photographed  ! 

The   camera    had   been    undisturbed   until 


IOI 

Le  Britta's  arrival  home.  The  energetic 
Maud  had  lost  no  time  in  carrying  out  his 
instructions  to  develop  the  pictures  it  con- 
tained. This  one  had  been  among  them, 
and  here  he  had  come  home  with  a  heavy 
heart  for  the  complications  surrounding  poor, 
fugitive  Gladys  Vernon,  while  in  his  pos- 
session he  unwittingly  carried  a  formidable 
weapon  against  the  man  who  had  scored  a 
mighty  triumph  as  the  king  of  knaves  and 
prince  of  plotters. 

Well  might  a  thrilling  gladness  succeed  to 
marveling  wonder !  As  Jera  Le  Britta  realized 
all  that  his  discovery  meant,  he  forgot  that  he 
had  come  home  to  attend  to  business  duties,  to 
rest  and  work  ere  he  again  saw  the  friends  of 
Gladys  Vernon.  He  was  no  longer  the  pho- 
tographer, the  friend,  the  father,  the  husband, 
the  employer  —  every  chivalrous  and  gener- 
ous instinct  in  his  nature  aroused,  he  was  the 
champion  of  lovely  distress,  the  rival  of  plot- 
ting cruelty,  the  shrewd,  energetic  detective, 
deeply  interested  in  a  complicated  case,  and 
eager  and  anxious  to  wield  the  new-found 
power  that  flashed  over  his  mind  like  a  vivid 
light,  gleaming  amid  the  darkness  and  gloom 
of  a  cheerless,  hopeless  night. 


IO2 

"  I  have  found  the  clue  !  " 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  waving  the  glass 
plate  dramatically. 

Dr.  Richard  Milton  arose  simultaneously. 
He  stared  in  wonder  at  his  friend. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  bromide  is  strong 
enough,"  he  remarked. 

"  Eh  ! "  exclaimed  Le  Britta,  with  a  start, 
aroused  to  the  reality  of  his  surroundings. 
"What  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"  I  say  that  bromide  may  not  be  strong 
enough." 

"For  what?"   queried  Le  Britta,  blankly. 

"  For  your  nerves.  You  are  either  bidding 
good-by  to  your  senses,  or  preparing  for 
your  debut  on  the  dramatic  stage.  I  say, 
Jera,  old  friend  !  what's  the  matter  with  you, 
anyway  ?  For  fully  ten  minutes  you  have 
sat  staring  at  that  bit  of  glass,  and  rolling 
your  eyes,  and  muttering,  and  frowning,  and 
smiling.  Allow  me  to  feel  your  pulse." 

"  Oh,  I  see  ! "  smiled  Le  Britta.  "  Pardon, 
doctor,  but  I  have  been  shocked,  stunned, 
amazed.  If  you  were  in  my  place  " 

"Put  me  there,  then,"  interrupted  the 
doctor,  keenly. 

"Eh!  how?" 


103 

"  By  telling  me  what  is  on  your  mind." 

"  Good!  I  should  have  done  so  soon,  any- 
way. Yes,  your  advice  will  help  me.  Sit 
down.  I  want  to  tell  you  a  story." 

Rapidly,  succinctly,  Jera  Le  Britta  detailed 
every  event  of  his  experience  since  that 
mysterious  day  when  he  had  first  met  the 
Vernons. 

Wonder-eyed,  interested,  excited,  the  sym- 
pathetic, impressionable  doctor  listened. 
Such  a  narrative  had  never  greeted  his  ears 
before.  Unconsciously  an  orator  and  an 
actor,  the  accompanying  gestures  of  Le 
Britta,  the  dramatic  intonation  of  a  man 
deeply  concerned  in  the  case  under  discus- 
sion, rendered  the  recital  as  emotional  and 
effective  as  a  thrilling  scene  in  a  drama  acted 
out  upon  the  mimic  stage. 

When  his  friend  came  to  the  discovery  of 
the  hour,  the  doctor  could  scarcely  contain 
himself  for  excitement. 

"Jera!"  he  cried.  "It  seems  incredible. 
And  you  call  yourself  a  photographer  ? 
Why,  man  !  you'd  make  your  fortune  as  a 
detective ! " 

"  If  my  efforts  can  baffle  that  scoundrel, 
Ralph  Durand,  and  restore  to  poor  Gladys 


104 

Vernon  her  wronged  lover,  Sydney  Vance,  I 
shall  be  content  to  be  considered  what  you 
like,"  responded  Le  Britta,  seriously.  '  Now 
then,  you  have  heard  the  story." 

"And  I  have  listened  to  every  word  of  it 
with  the  deepest  interest  and  wonder." 

"  Then  weigh  them  carefully." 

"  I  have  done  so." 

"And  your  advice  ?" 

Doctor  Milton  shook  his  head  slowly  but 
resolutely. 

"I  advise  you?"  he  murmured,  deprecat- 
ingly.  "  No,  no,  old  friend !  A  man  who 
can  do  what  you  have  done  in  this  case, 
needs  no  adviser,  your  duty  is  plain." 

"  You  mean  ?  " 

"To  go  straight  back  to  Hawthorne  villa." 

"  With  the  plate  ?" 

"  With  the  plate,  that  proves  all  you  can 
swear  to  about  the  will.  Why  !  with  such 
formidable  evidence,  what  court  in  Christen- 
dom would  doubt  that  Gideon  Vernon  in- 
tended to  dispossess  that  Durand  of  his 
power  as  guardian  ?  " 

"  But  is  the  photograph  of  a  will  valid  —  is 
its  evidence  irrefutable  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know.     Suffice  it,  that  it  would 


baffle  Durand.  Produced  in  court,  with  your 
story,  it  would  place  Durand  under  such  deep 
suspicion,  as  the  person  who  juggled  with  the 
original  document,  that  he  would  either  be 
divested  of  his  fraudulently-obtained  author- 
ity, or  placed  under  the  strict  surveillance  of 
justice.  Le  Britta,  we  need  you  here.  The 
town  needs  you.  A  man  like  you,  with  your 
genial,  encouraging  ways,  brisk,  business 
facilities,  and  rapid,  turning  over  of  capital,  is 
no  unimportant  element  in  its  commercial 
economy.  Your  friends  miss  you,  you  belong 
to  us,  and  to  your  family,  but  that  poor  girl, 
Gladys,  needs  a  champion.  At  one  stroke, 
you  may  be  able  to  frighten  Durand  away. 
Go  back  to  Hawthorne  villa,  I  say,  complete 
your  chivalrous  record  by  a  last  good  deed. 
I  needn't  tell  you  that.  A  man  of  your  kind 
heart  and  noble  impulses  could  not  rest  if  you 
thought  any  sacrifice  would  benefit  the  perse- 
cuted and  orphaned.  Go !  I  feel  sanguine 
you  have  solved  the  problem  of  that  innocent 
young  girl's  life,  in  the  discovery  of  the 
photograph  of  the  last  will  and  testament  of 
Gideon  Vernon." 

Jera  Le  Britta  assumed  a  serious,  deter- 
mined   expression.     He    was    wearied.     He 


io6 

longed  for  the  rest,  the  comfort,  the  con- 
tentment of  home,  but  duty  seemed  to  point 
the  way  back  the  via  dolorosa  he  had  come. 

He  regarded  the  pile  of  orders  and  unfin- 
ished pictures  on  a  table  near  by  with  a  sigh, 
he  thought  of  the  discomforts  of  a  journey 
with  no  pleasing  anticipations. 

"I  will  go,"  he  said,  simply.  "I  will  see 
what  power  lies  in  this  precious  little  glass 
negative  to  pave  the  way  to  justice,  and 
right  a  great  wrong. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
GOOD-BY  ! 

JERA  LE  BRITTA  went  to  a  cabinet  as  he 
expressed  his  new  determination,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  secure  the  glass  negative  safely. 
That  little  article  of  furniture  had  every 
requisite  ready  at  hand  to  pack  photographs 
and  their  concomitants  for  preservation  or 
transmission  through  the  mails,  and  he  soon 
had  the  precious  plate  provided  with  safe 
coverings,  secure  from  risk  of  mar  or  break- 
age, and  encased  in  a  neat  envelope. 

The  operation,   methodical  and  neat,  was 


characteristic  of  the  man.  He  was  care- 
ful in  small  things.  That  was  the  key-note 
of  his  success.  "A  time  and  a  place  for 
everything,"  was  his  motto,  and,  excited  and 
anxious  as  he  was,  he  made  sure  of  the  safety 
of  the  negative,  transferred  it  to  his  pocket, 
and  closed  the  cabinet. 

It  contained  an  elegant  line  of  stationery, 
cards,  envelopes  and  the  like,  all  bearing  his 
name  in  script,  a  bold,  striking  signature, 
formed  in  a  soft  shade  of  red  embossed  let- 
ters. The  material  of  the  stationery,  too, 
was  of  the  finest  grade.  The  cards  were 
bought  to  wear  and  look  well  —  no  ragged 
edges,  no  split  filaments.  The  outer  envel- 
opes for  holding  photographs  were  of  rice  or 
linen  paper,  giving  a  tone  and  finish  to  every- 
thing that  left  his  establishment. 

He  announced  to  Miss  Maud  his  intention 
of  leaving  home  at  once  again  to  be  gone  for 
several  days. 

The  dainty  artiste  made  a  wry  grimace  of 
mock  despair.  Her  deft,  delicate  fingers 
never  shirked  work,  but  she  knew  how 
weighty  were  the  responsibilities  of  the  busi- 
ness, how  harmonious  and  smooth  were  its 


io8 

operations  with  the  firm,  self-reliant,  guiding 
hand  of  her  employer  to  rule  and  navigate. 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  imagine  you  can  get 
through  with  the  orders  while  am  gone," 
spoke  Le  Britta,  kindly. 

"  I  will  try,"  murmured  Maud,  "and  do  my 
best." 

"  You  always  do  that,  Maud.  We  must 
deliver  all  orders  on  time." 

"But  which  first?  There  are  some  photo- 
graphs for  that  man  who  brought  his  whole 
family  here.  You  remember  —  the  laborer 
with  eleven  children,  a  mother-in-law  and 
four  nephews.  His  can  wait,  can  they  not  ? 
I  can  have  them  ready  on  time,  only  he  is 
anxious  to  have  them  before  time." 

"  Try  and  accommodate  him,  Maud." 

"  But  he  ordered  a  cheaper  grade  of  pict- 
ures." 

"Never  mind;  they  may  be  'cheaper'  in 
price,  and  he  may  not  be  able  to  pay  as 
well  as  a  millionaire.  All  the  more  reason 
for  doing  him  a  good  piece  of  work.  We 
will  make  him  happy  by  giving  him  a  group 
that  will  speak  with  life.  We  do  no  'cheap' 
work  here.  I  make  the  honest  fellow  a  pres- 
ent of  half  the  pictures.  No  picture,  for  rich 


109 

or  poor,  must  be  slighted.  All  must  be  of 
even  artistic  grade.  He  complimented  our 
skill  and  reputation  by  coming  to  us.  Even 
if  he  is  not  a  profitable  customer,  let  us  de- 
light in  doing  a  little  charity  work,  and  yet 
make  him  feel  that  he  is  not  receiving  such. 
He  is  anxious  for  his  pictures  ;  finish  them 
first  of  all." 

Le  Britta  had  touched  upon  a  point  that 
was  almost  a  hobby  with  him  —  cheap  pict- 
ures. He  never  made  such.  He  had  seen 
too  many  photographs  of  an  inferior  quality, 
to  wish  to  emulate  his  mediocre  competitors. 
Cheap  work,  he  well  knew,  meant  hurried 
work  ;  hurried  for  the  deluded  sitter,  hurried 
for  the  artist,  thereby  disturbing  his  delicate 
equilibrium  of  touch,  and  degrading  high 
artistic  possibilities.  Proper  care  was  always 
a  necessary  adjunct  to  proper  adjustment  of 
focus.  There  must  be  no  neglect  in  posing 
and  lighting,  no  inferior  chemicals  employed, 
no  rude  retouching,  no  careless  printing. 
Art  educates,  refines,  cultivates  and  develops 
the  mind,  and  careful  adherence  to  its  dic- 
tates infuses  capacity,  ability,  faithfulness. 
Those  who  desire  the  best  results  in  art 
must  expect  to  offer  reasonable  compensation 


no 

for  its  exercise.  Le  Britta  realized  all  this. 
He  formulated  his  ideas  on  this  basis. 
He.  refused,  as  an  artist  of  capability,  intelli- 
gence and  skill,  with  large  capital  invested 
and  with  a  proud  reputation  to  sustain,  to 
meet  the  competition  of  the  obscure  itinerant 
with  nothing  of  these,  and  make  "cheap" 
pictures.  In  the  photographic  art,  invention 
and  discovery  had  reduced  the  cost  of  pro- 
duction until  all  could  enjoy  the  best  results 
at  a  moderate  price,  and  when  he  did  make 
happy  some  honest  wage-earner  with  small 
charges,  it  was  a  voluntary  charity  of  his 
generous  heart. 

There  were  mournful  faces  at  the  pretty 
home  when  Le  Britta  announced  the  urgency 
of  an  immediate  departure,  but  the  soft, 
gentle  glance  of  his  true  and  loving  wife  to 
whom  he  told  all  his  eventful  story,  satisfied 
him  more  than  ever  that  he  was  on  the 
straight  path  of  duty. 

"Go,  dear  Jera,"  she  urged,  earnestly. 
"Always  doing  good,  ever  forgetting  self! 
Poor  girl !  Do  not  lose  any  time  in  trying 
to  restore  her  to  her  friends,  in  bringing  to 
time  that  horrible  Durand  ;  and,  Jera,  if  you 
should  find  her,  tell  the  poor  child  that  she 


Ill 

shall  have  a  welcome  here  always.  How  my 
heart  pities  her  in  her  orphaned  loneliness 
and  peril  !  Oh,  Jera  !  when  I  think  of  how 
happy  we  are,  safe,  comfortable,  surrounded 
by  friends,  I  long  to  give  the  poor,  innocent 
dove  a  home  among  us." 

"Papa  s'ant  do  !"  announced  the  baby  of 
the  family,  doughtily  striving  to  lock  a  door 
against  his  father's  departure. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  more  waiting  and  watching," 
pouted  the  eldest,  a  bright-faced  girl  of  eight. 
"  Papa,  it's  real  mean  of  you." 

But  a  royal  "trot  horse  to  market"  for 
number  one,  and  the  promise  of  a  present 
for  domineering  number  two,  enabled  Le 
Britta  to  escape  with  hair  uncrumpled,  fol- 
lowed by  the  serious,  loving  "  Heaven  speed 
you  !  "  from  the  lips  of  the  most  beautiful  of 
all  the  beautiful  women  he  had  ever  met. 

His  little  hand-bag  packed  with  a  few 
necessaries  for  a  two  day's  journey,  Le  Britta 
stopped  on  his  way  at  the  office  of  his  friend, 
Doctor  Milton. 

"  Well,  all  ready  ?"  queried  the  disciple  of 
Esculapius. 

'  Yes.  I  shall  take  the  train  in  half  an 
hour." 


112 

"And  return?" 

"To-morrow,  I  hope." 

"What  is  your  plan?" 

"  I  hardly  know  yet.  I  shall  see  Mr.  Ver- 
non's  lawyer  and  present  my  evidence,  and 
be  guided  by  his  advice.  There's  a  knock  at 
the  door,  doctor." 

Doctor   Milton   opened    the   door  at   the 
summons.      A    bare-footed,    excited    urchin 
stood  there,  his  great  goggle-eyes  rolling— 
breathless,  incoherent. 

"  Doc-tor  !     Come  at  onct !  " 

"  Come  where?"  demanded  Doctor  Milton. 

"To  the  grug  store.  Man  run  away  and 
wagon  got  hurt  —  no,  I  mean  wagon  ran 
away  and  man  got  hurt.  Sent  for  you  right 
off!" 

"  I'll  be  there  in  a  minute.  I  must  bid  you 
good-by,  Jera." 

Doctor  Milton  caught  up  his  surgical  case 
and  put  on  his  hat.  Le  Britta  accompanied 
him  to  the  street. 

"Some  case  of  trifling  injury  —  man 
stunned  or  ankle  sprained,  I  suppose,"  spoke 
the  doctor. 

Le  Britta  went  his  way.     If  he  had  only 


known !  but  we  never  know  in  this  busy, 
changing,  fateful  world  of  ours. 

If  he  had  only  known,  the  barefooted 
urchin  was  a  messenger  of  fate. 

For,  had  Jera  Le  Britta  accompanied  Dr. 
Richard  Milton  to  his  new  patient,  the 
course  of  many  lives  would  have  been  affected 
then  and  there. 

Destiny  plays  strange  caprices  in  the  plot 
and  counterplot  of  our  lives,  and  the  man  just 
injured  by  a  runaway,  was  fated  to  be  an 
important  element  in  the  mystery  and  mis- 
eries surrounding  the  fugitive  Gladys  Ver- 
non. 

All  unconscious  of  this,  however,  thinking 
only  of  the  clue  he  possessed  and  the  duty 
imperative  of  the  hour,  Jera  Le  Britta  went 
his  way. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ONLY  A  TRAMP. 


DR.  RICHARD  MILTON,  when  he  left  his 
friend  Le  Britta,  proceeded  rapidly  in  the 
direction  of  the  "grug"  store. 

His  kind,  sympathetic  face  grew  more  seri- 


U4 

ous  as  he    realized  that  his  services  might 

soon  be  enlisted  in  a  matter  of  life  or  death. 

Clean-shaven,  the  contour  of  his  face  re- 
sembling some  of  those  profiles  one  sees  on 
old  Roman  coins,  a  physiognomist  would 
have  ascribed  a  remarkably  even  tempera- 
ment to  this  young  man. 

Not  that  he  lacked  fire,  only  the  profession 
he  had  undertaken  was  one  the  deep  serious- 
ness of  which  he  fully  realized.  Long  com- 
panionship with  Le  Britta  had  fostered  the 
naturally  noble  sentiments  of  his  mind,  and 
he  had  developed  into  a  kind,  just  and  honor- 
able man. 

There  was  a  crowd  around  the  door  of  the 
drug  store,  excited  men,  women  and  children 
were  jostling  one  another  and  striving  to 
peer  in  through  the  windows,  while  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  establishment  held  the  door 
shut  and  ordered  the  people  away. 

"  Here  comes  the  doctor !  "  was  the  simul- 
taneous announcement  of  half-a-dozen  voices, 
and  room  was  made  for  Doctor  Milton  to 
reach  the  door. 

Inside,  lying  upon  the  marble-tiled  floor, 
his  head  supported  by  a  cushion,  lay  a  man, 
motionless  and  bleeding. 


A  glance  told  Doctor  Milton  that  he  be- 
longed to  that  genus  known  as  tramp.  His 
frowsy  head  of  hair,  unkempt  beard,  worn- 
out  shoes,  dusty,  travel-stained  and  tattered 
attire,  evidenced  the  fact  that  Doctor  Milton 
would  have  to  add  another  charity-patient  to 
the  long  list. 

"  Hurt  pretty  badly,  doctor,  I  guess," 
whispered  the  druggist. 

"  How  did  it  occur?"  queried  the  doctor, 
mechanically,  kneeling  by  the  side  of  his 
patient. 

"  Runaway  horse  and  wagon.  Caught 
him  on  the  dead  run,  and  knocked  him  — 
twenty  feet,  I  should  think." 

Doctor  Milton  felt  the  pulse  of  the  insen- 
sible man;  he  lifted  one  eyelid  with  his 
thumb  and  forefinger;  he  pressed  the  tips 
of  his  fingers  until  the  blood  showed  under 
the  nails.  Then  he  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"  No  temporary  treatment  here,"  he  mur- 
mured, convincedly.  "The  man's  insensibil- 
ity is  not  the  result  of  a  nervous  shock. 
Something  more  serious,  I  fear.  Let  us  see 
as  to  his  injuries." 

There  was  a  slight  scalp-wound,  but  beside 
it  was  an  immense  protuberance.  As  the 


n6 

doctor  lifted  the  man's  arm,  however,  he 
started  despite  himself. 

From  elbow  to  wrist,  one  arm  had  the  flesh 
scraped  off  as  clean  as  if  a  knife  had  shaved 
it.  For  all  the  world  it  resembled  a  spring 
sapling,  with  a  section  of  the  fresh  green 
bark  peeled  clear  to  the  white  wooden  core. 

"  This  man  needs  long,  careful  attention," 
he  remarked,  arising  to  his  feet.  "  Where 
can  he  be  taken  ?  " 

"  You  can  have  my  back  room,,  if  you  like," 
remarked  the  druggist. 

"  No,  it  must  be  to  some  permanent,  com- 
fortable place.  Have  you  a  stretcher  ?  " 

"  We  can  improvise  one." 

"  Please  do  so." 

Doctor  Milton  surveyed  his  patient 
thoughtfully.  He  was  "only  a  tramp  !  "  only 
one  of  those  poor,  homeless  fellows  who  wan- 
der from  town  to  town,  and  from  city  to  city, 
migratory  as  the  birds,  and  like  the  birds,  in- 
cluded in  that  blessed  benison  —  "Your 
Father  cares  for  the  sparrows  of  the  field,  and 
will  He  not  care  for  you  ?  " 

With  the  practiced  eye  of  a  surgeon  he 
readily  recognized  the  emergency  of  the  case. 
A  fellow-being's  life,  however  worthless,  de- 


ii; 

pended  on  immediate  active  treatment.  In  a 
flash  he  decided  what  to  do,  and  followed  the 
dictates  of  his  great  humane  heart. 

The  druggist  and  his  subordinates  soon 
brought  in  a  rudely-improvised  litter.  Upon 
it,  following  the  doctor's  direction,  and 
aided  by  him,  they  placed  the  unconscious 
man.  He  never  stirred  or  spoke. 

"  Get  four  strong  men  to  carry  him,"  spoke 
Milton. 

"Where  to,  doctor?"  queried  the  drug- 
gist. 

"To  my  office." 

"  Surely,"  ejaculated  the  man,  with  a  start, 
"  you  will  not  burden  yourself  with  his  care  ! " 

"Will  any  one  else?" 

"  I  fear  not." 

"Then  I  cannot  see  him  die.  Gently, 
boys  !  "  as  ready  helpers  were  summoned  from 
the  throng  outside  to  the  side  of  the  litter. 

They  bore  their  inanimate  burden  from 
the  store  and  down  the  street.  The  doctor 
leading  the  way,  they  reached  his  office. 

Doctor  Milton  prepared  a  couch  for  him, 
and  upon  it  he  was  placed. 

Alone  with  his  patient,  he  became  the 
stern,  practical  surgeon  once  more. 


n8 

For  nearly  an  hour  he  worked  at  him,  forc- 
ing medicine  between  his  lips,  hypodermically 
injecting  stimulants,  applying  bandages  to 
the  great  protuberance  at  the  base  of  the 
brain. 

"Temperature,  pulse  and  respiration  bet- 
ter," murmured  the  doctor.  "  Now  for  the 
arm." 

He  took  up  his  scalpel  and  scissors  twice, 
and  laid  them  aside  again.  He  became 
thoughtful,  serious. 

"  It  cannot  be  done,"  he  soliloquized. 
"  It  is  either  a  well  arm,  a  useful  arm  in  time, 
or  a  crippled,  torturing  limb.  If  it  is  worth 
doing  at  all,  it  is  worth  doing  well.  I  will 
not  touch  it  till  I  have  considered.  Here  is 
an  experiment  worthy  the  skill  of  a  Macken- 
zie or  a  Gunn." 

Doctor  Milton  simply  applied  a  loose,  wet 
cloth  to  the  scraped,  distended  arm. 

"  If  the  man  recovers  consciousness  com- 
pletely in  an  hour,  the  injury  to  the  nerve 
centers  are  only  temporary,"  he  murmured. 
"  If  not,  he  will  die.  Ah!  he  moves." 

Yes,  with  a  low  moan  of  pain,  the  patient 
stirred  slightly.  Then  he  opened  his  eyes. 


'  I've  got  to  get  back  there  !  "  fell  distinctly 
01,  the  dead  silence  of  the  room. 

Doctor  Milton  hurriedly  approached  the 
couch. 

"  Get  where,  my  poor  fellow  ?  "  he  queried, 
gently. 

"To —  to  that  place." 

"What  place?" 

"  Hawthorne  villa." 

"  Great  goodness  !  "  ejaculated  the  doctor, 
recoiling  involuntarily.  '  What  in  the  world 
does  this  mean  ?" 

His  mind  full  of  Le  Britta's  vivid  story,  the 
mention  of  the  home  of  Gladys  Vernon 
startled  him  indescribably. 

He  was  deeply  amazed,  excited,  curious, 
too,  but,  as  he  gazed  keenly  at  the  tramp,  he 
saw  that  although  semi-consciousness  had 
supervened,  his  mind  was  still  groping,  and 
he  spoke  only  automatically  upon  some 
theme  powerfully  present  in  his  mind. 

"  The  papers  are  all  right  !  " 

Those  were  the  next  words  of  the  sufferer. 

"  I  had  them  written  by  different  persons. 
Couldn't  trust  one  person,  couldn't  trust  one 
person,  couldn't  trust  one  person  !  " 

The    monologue    died  in  a  low  murmur. 


I2O 

The  eyes  closed,  the  man's  body  resumed  its 
rigidity. 

Of  a  sudden,  however,  as  the  absorbed 
Doctor  Milton  gazed,  the  invalid  gave  a  ter- 
rible start.  The  first  conscious  recognition 
of  his  injuries,  of  pain,  seemed  to  possess  his 
senses,  for  he  drew  up  his  injured  arm  in  a 
wincing,  tortured  way,  his  eyes  glared  wildly, 
and  he  choked  out : 

"I  remember!  I  was  hurt.  Oh!  send 
for  a  doctor.  I  can't  die,  I  wont  die,  with 
that  secret  mine  !  I'll  pay  a  hundred,  a 
thousand  dollars,  only  save  me.  I'm  rich  ! 
rich  !  thousands  are  mine,  if  I  can  only  get 
the  strength  to  crawl  back  to  Hawthorne 
villa.  The  secret,  the  papers  !  oh  !  — hh  —  h 
— h  !  " 

Back  he  fell  again,  this  time  like  a  dead 
weight. 

Mystified,  startled,  Dr.  Richard  Milton 
regarded  him  wonderingly.  Then,  as  a 
sudden  flush  stole  over  the  patient's  face,  and 
his  breathing  changed,  the  doctor  "examined 
him  more  closely. 

"What  did  he  mean?"  he  ejaculated. 
"  Le  Britta,  more  shrewd  than  I,  would  trace 
a  wonderful  significance  in  those  incoherent 


121 

words.  This  man  will  not  tell  for  a  time,  I 
am  thinking !  Fever  ?  He's  in  for  a  long- 
siege  of  it.  Well,  I'll  save  him  if  it  is  possi- 
ble." 

The  man  did  not  revive  again  that  night, 
nor  the  next  day,  nor  the  one  following. 

When  partial  consciousness  did  come,  it 
was  to  engulf  the  homeless  sufferer  in  the 
embrace  of  a  hot,  wasting  fever,  and  his  wild 
utterances  bore  no  further  reference  to  his 
boasted  wealth  or  Hawthorne  villa. 

Doctor  Milton  grew  restive  under  the  con- 
stant care  he  required,  but  he  was  not  the 
man  to  ignore  a  duty  once  assumed. 

"Only  a  tramp!"  he  adjudged  the 
wretched  sufferer ;  but,  although  he  little 
dreamed  it,  he  was  "entertaining  an  angel 
unawares !  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

FACE  TO  FACE. 


JERA  LE  BRITTA  reached  the  bustling  little 
town  where  the  lawyer  of  the  Vernon  estates 
resided  late  that  same  evening,  but  went  to 
the  village  hotel  and  deferred  calling  upon 
him  till  the  following  day. 


122 

Exhausted  nature  played  the  photographer 
a  sad  trick,  however.  He  slept  beyond  the 
anticipated  hour,  and  with  no  little  trepidation 
observed  that  it  was  after  ten  o'clock  the  fol- 
lowing morning  when  he  awoke. 

Refreshed,  however,  by  his  long  recuper- 
ating sleep,  and  fortified  by  a  hearty  break- 
fast, Le  Britta  started  forth,  his  head  clear, 
his  energies  revivified,  his  courage  dauntless, 
to  enter  the  lists  against  the  ex-tramp  and 
schemer,  who  sat  like  some  bird  of  ill  omen 
brooding  over  the  fortunes  of  Hawthorne 
villa. 

Disappointment  baffled  his  efforts  to  find 
the  lawyer.  The  latter  was  at  court  at  an 
adjoining  village.  Le  Britta  decided  to  go 
there  after  him.  Then,  on  second  reflection, 
he  determined  to  await  his  return,  and  then, 
a  sudden  idea  coming  to  his  mind,  he  started 
with  resolute  face  and  a  confident  heart  in 
the  direction  of  Hawthorne  villa  itself. 

"Yes,  I'll  risk  it!"  he  soliloquized.  "It 
can  do  no  possible  harm.  It  may  be  my  final 
interview  with  Ralph  Durand,  and  as  I  am 
in  no  wise  afraid  of  him,  I  will  give  him  a  bit 
of  wholesome  advice,  if  nothing  more.  I 
hold  a  weapon  in  my  hand  which  may 


123 

frighten,  unman  him,  drive  him  away.  The 
effect  of  the  photograph  upon  him  will  be  a 
guide  as  to  our  future  movements." 

Cogitating  over  this  course,  Le  Britta 
reached  the  villa.  He  paused  at  its  gate  to 
regard  several  persons  in  the  garden. 

One  was  the  redoubtable  Ralph  Durand 
himself.  He  was  arrayed  in  flashy  gar- 
ments, and  his  flushed,  brutal  face,  early  as 
was  the  hour,  showed  unmistakable  evi- 
dences of  intoxication.  He  was  ordering 
two  servants  to  do  some  work  about  the 
garden. 

"Rip  up  those  beastly  roses!"  he  com- 
manded, "and  pull  away  those  hideous  vines 
from  the  veranda.  We  want  no  sentimental 
gew-gaws  of  shrubbery  about  here." 

Le  Britta's  eyes  flashed  with  indignation, 
as  he  realized  the  power  of  this  uncultured 
boor  to  destroy  Gladys'  beloved  flowers. 
Calming  himself,  however,  for  the  impending 
interview  he  was  determined  to  precipitate, 
he  opened  the  gate  and  walked  up  the 
graveled  path. 

"  Hello  !  "  ejaculated  Durand,  staring  inso- 
lently at  his  visitor  ;  "you  here  !  " 


124 

"As  you  see,"  responded  Le  Britta; 
quietly. 

Durand's  brow  grew  dark  and  forbidding 
as  a  thunder-cloud. 

"  I  thought  I  ordered  you  to  remain  off 
these  premises,"  he  continued,  in  an  insult- 
ing, aggressive  tone  of  voice. 

11  You  did." 

"  You'd  better  obey  me  !  " 

"  I  have  business  here,  sir." 

"  You  have  what  ?  " 

"  Business  —  urgent,  important,  personal." 

"Out  with  it  then  !" 

"  Not  here.     I  wish  to  see  you  alone." 

"Oh!  that's  it?"  muttered  Durand.  "I 
don't  see  what  '  business '  you  can  have  with 
me  ?  I'm  king  here  now.  The  law  can  deal 
with  that  meddler  Vance,  and  as  to  Gladys, 
if  you've  come  to  intercede  for  her,  its  no 
use.  I'm  her  legally-appointed  guardian. 
Let  her  come  back  and  behave  herself,  and  its 
all  right." 

"  I  have  come  on  behalf  of  neither  of  the 
persons  you  name,"  spoke  Le  Britta.     "As  to 
Gladys,  she  will  never,  I  am  assured,  return 
while  you  are  here.     As  to  Sydney  Vance  ^ 
no  one  seems  to  know  where  he  is." 


125 

"  Don't,  eh  ?  "  sneered  Durand,  coarsely. 

"  No,  unless  it  is  yourself." 

The  shot  told.  Durand  changed  color. 
He  clenched  his  hands  angrily,  then,  repress- 
ing the  natural  antagonistic  instincts  of  his 
quarrelsome  nature,  he  said,  insolently : 

"  Well,  come  in,  and  get  through  with  this 
'  business '  of  yours  as  quickly  as  you  can. 
Your  room  is  better  than  your  company  in 
my  house,  I  can  tell  you  that !  " 

Jera  Le  Britta  subdued  the  rising  anger 
and  indignation  he  felt  with  a  master  mind. 
He  realized  the  uselessness  of  heeding  or  re- 
taliating for  the  insults  heaped  upon  him  by 
his  half-intoxicated  host.  He  had  come  to 
fulfill  a  mission,  and  he  comprehended  that 
Durand's  condition  was  favorable  to  the 
hoped-for  outcome  of  the  interview  he  pro- 
jected. 

Durand  led  the  way  to  the  room  where  Le 
Britta  had  first  seen  dead  Gideon  Vernon. 
He  threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair,  and 
frowned  at  his  visitor. 

"  Go  ahead !  "  he  ordered. 

"I  have  come  to  see  you,"  announced  Le 
Britta  —  "to  warn  you." 

"To  what?"  scowled  Durand. 


126 

"To  warn  you,"  repeated  Le  Britta,  sol- 
emnly. 

"  Of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  your  peril,  of  the  future.  Ralph 
Durand,  I  shall  waste  no  words  upon  you.  I 
know  that  you  substituted  an  evaporating 
acid  for  ink,  and  reduced  Gideon  Vernon's 
last  lawful  will  and  testament  to  worthless- 
ness." 

The  hardened  knave  in  the  luxurious  arm- 
chair had  the  audacity  to  chuckle  at  this  bold 
statement. 

"Good!"  he  jeered,  disdainfully.  "Go 
on." 

"  You  murdered  Gideon  Vernon"- 

Durand  started  violently. 

"  You  know  what  has  become  of  Sidney 
Vance.  You  are  plotting  to  wreck  this 
estate  for  your  own  personal  benefit  during 
the  term  of  your  guardianship." 

"Anything  else?"  queried  Durand,  plac- 
idly. 

"  Is  that  not  enough  ?  Are  you  human, 
to  sit  there,  heartless,  sneering,  merciless, 
while  the  rightful  owner  of  this  home  is  a 
wanderer  and  an  outcast !  "  cried  Le  Britta, 
indignantly. 


127 

"  Do  you  want  my  answer  in  plain  words  ?" 
ground  out  Durand. 

'  Yes,  if  you  are  capable  of  telling  the 
truth." 

"I  have  the  power  to  order  you  to  be 
ejected  from  this  house  like  the  insolent  med- 
dler and  intruder  you  are,"  spoke  Durand, 
angrily,  "  but  I  am  getting  used  to  what  peo- 
ple say  about  me.  All  I  have  to  say  is  com- 
prised in  two  little  words." 

"And  they  are?" 

"Prove  it!" 

Aye,  prove  it  !  Jera  Le  Britta  recognized 
the  strong  citadel  of  non-committal  and  defi- 
ance behind  which  this  heartless  knave  had 
entrenched  himself.  He  did  not  show  his 
chagrin,  however.  He  arose  from  his  chair, 
advanced  to  the  table,  leaned  one  hand  im- 
pressively upon  it,  and  fixing  an  unwavering 
glance  straight  upon  the  face  of  his  sneering 
companion,  he  said,  gravely  and  resolutely : 

"I  will!" 

Ralph  Durand  stirred  uneasily.  His 
glance  shifted.  He  knew  that  he  had  a  deter- 
mined man  to  deal  with. 

"  Section  by  section,  fact  by  fact,  I  will !  " 
continued  Le  Britta,  energetically.  "  I  tell 


128 

you,  Ralph  Durand,  that,  ere  a  month  is 
passed,  sure  as  the  sun  shines,  I  will  know 
the  truth  of  all  your  plottings." 

"  Then  why  do  you  come  here ! "  snorted 
Durand,  incredulously. 

"  To  prove  my  words.  First  and  foremost, 
there  is  the  will.  Your  scheming  destroyed 
it  —  your  deft  knowledge  of  subtle  chemicals 
enabled  you  to  retain  your  power  as  guardian 
of  Gladys  Vernon." 

"  Under  a  valid,  existing  will,  yes,"  replied 
Durand. 

"  Which  the  new  will  recalled  and  vitiated. 
That  will  is  destroyed,  but " 

Le  Britta  paused.  He  wished  his  antag- 
onist to  feel  the  full  power  of  his  disclosures. 
The  latter  could  not  conceal  his  interest  and 
suspense.  His  lips  twitched  nervously,  and 
the  vivid  emotion  he  experienced  began  to 
undermine  the  false  strength  given  him  by 
the  liquor  of  which  he  had  partaken. 

"That  will  exists,"  concluded  Jera  Le 
Britta.  "  I  can  swear,  Gladys  Vernon,  the 
witness,  the  old  housekeeper,  can  swear  that 
such  a  will  was  made.  A  court  of  justice 
would  believe  us.  What,  then,  would  you 


129 

say,  if  I  told  you  that,  despite  your  machina- 
tions, that  will  still  exists  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it  ! "  gasped  the  now 
thoroughly  startled  and  affrighted  Ralph 
Durand,  his  features  turning  ashen  in  their 
hue. 

"  I  speak  the  truth.  Word  for  word  I  can 
read  it  to  you.  Line  for  line  I  can  show  it  to 
you." 

The  plotter  began  to  tremble.  He  had 
dabbled  in  chemicals  successfully.  Suppose 
this  man,  Le  Britta,  had  exceeded  his  skill  ? 

A  thousand  possible  complications  ran  riot 
in  his  brain.  Had  they  restored  the  faded 
writing  ?  Had  he  blundered  somewhere  along 
the  line  ? 

"  I  don't  believe  it !  "  he  repeated,  his  voice 
a  hoarse,  faint  monotone.  '  You  have  a  copy 
- — the  counterpart  of  the  will  itself?  Bah! 
you  seek  to  frighten  me.  You  have  it  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Pitiless,  convincing  as  the  stroke  of  doom 
the  answer  sounded. 

"  You  can  show  it  to  me  ?  " 

"I  can." 

"  Where  is  it?" 

With   a   mighty  sweep  of  his   hand,  Jera 


130 

Le  Britta  brought  it  down  across  his  breast 
pocket,  and  uttered  the  single  ominous  word  : 
"  Here  !  " 


CHAPTER   XVI. 
THE  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CAMERA. 

"HERE!" 

The  word  revealed  volumes.  A  plain- 
spoken,  straightforward  man,  in  every-day 
life,  Jera  Le  Britta  could  inject  force,  expres- 
sion and  emotion  into  a  word,  when  his  heart 
was  in  its  utterance. 

In  the  present  instance,  he  realized  that  its 
effect  might  mean  the  salvation  of  fugitive 
Gladys  Vernon  ;  he  comprehended  that  once 
to  unman  the  scheming  knave  before  him,  to 
throw  him  off  his  guard,  to  hold  him  even  for 
one  quivering  moment  of  time  at  his  mercy, 
meant  confession,  weakness,  the  possession 
of  those  vital  facts  only  outlined  now  in  his 
mind  as  vague  conjectures. 

Slowly  Le  Britta  unbuttoned  his  dress  coat. 
As  his  well-formed  chest  and  sinewy  hands 
exerted  themselves,  the  craven  Durand 
shrank  back,  physically  as  well  as  morally 


cowed  before  the  preponderating  influence 
of  his  opponent's  strength. 

Jera  Le  Britta  drew  the  packet  containing 
the  precious  glass  negative  from  his  pocket. 

Carefully  he  undid  its  coverings.  Wrap 
by  wrap  it  was  unfolded,  until,  finally,  reach- 
ing the  last  envelope  and  the  straw-board 
sheets  that  enclosed  it,  he  drew  the  little 
piece  of  glass  into  view. 

"  Here,"  he  spoke,  calmly,  "is  the  evidence 
of  your  iniquity,  the  proof  that  Gideon  Ver- 
non  made  a  will  revoking  the  power  reposed 
in  you  by  a  former  one.  Why  do  I  show  it 
to  you  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  gurgled  in  Durand's  throat. 

"  Because  I  wish  to  avoid  scandal,  litigation. 
Because  I  wish  to  give  you  a  final  chance  to 
atone  for  your  past  wrong-doing.  When  I 
have  shown  it  to  you,  when  I  have  plainly, 
irrefutably  convinced  you  that  it  with  my 
evidence  will  rescind  your  powers,  and  rescue 
this  fair  estate  and  its  fairer  rightful  legatee 
from  your  machinations,  you  can  resign  your 
trust." 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

"The  law  will  be  appealed  to." 

"  Show  your  boasted  proofs  !  " 


132 

"I  will.     Behold!" 

Advancing  to  within  two  feet  of  the  gaping, 
trembling  Durand,  the  photographer  placed 
the  glass  negative  so  that  the  light  could 
shine  through  it. 

In  brief,  terse  sentences  he  related  how  it 
had  come  into  his  possession.  In  calm, 
measured  tones  he  followed  the  craven's 
eyes,  and  read  the  chronicle  of  the  camera. 

It  was  a  strange  repetition  of  the  last  will 
and  testament  of  dead  Gideon  Vernon.  The 
schemer  stared,  listened,  trembled.  He  was 
a  bold,  defiant  knave  when  he  held  the  reins 
of  power,  but  just  now  he  seemed  to  realize 
the  weakness  of  his  position. 

The  effect  of  the  revelation  upon  Durand 
was  far  more  startling  and  satisfactory  than 
Le  Britta  had  hoped  to  accomplish.  His 
experiment  was  a  complete  success. 

Ashen-faced,  baffled,  criminal  Ralph  Du- 
rand became  convulsed  like  a  man  in  the 
incipient  stages  of  paroxysm. 

"  Show  it  to  me ! "  he  hissed,  hoarsely, 
flinging  out  his  trembling  hands.  "  Let  me 
read,  inspect  for  myself." 

"No." 


133 

With  one  hand  Le  Britta  forcibly  pushed 
back  the  all  too  eager  knave. 

Not  for  a  moment  would  he  trust  that 
precious  article,  the  tell-tale  negative,  in  his 
unscrupulous  hands. 

He  placed  the  little  piece  of  glass  upon 
the  table,  slanting  it  against  two  books,  so 
that,  as  a  perpetual  menace  fully  visible  to 
Durand,  it  might  continue  to  impress  and 
influence  him. 

Then  he  strode  between  it  and  the  baffled 
villain,  who  glared  alternately  at  it  and  its 
owner. 

'  Bah  !  a  trick  to  frighten  me,"  gurgled  in 
Durand's  throat. 

"  You  know  better,"  responded  Le  Britta, 
sternly.  "Your  face  betrays  you,  your 
trembling  frame  reveals  your  terror,  your 
conviction.  That  is  proof  one.  It  disposes 
of  the  will  affair.  I  ask  you,  ere  I  proceed 
further,  to  here  and  now  resign  your  trust  as 
Gladys  Vernon's  guardian." 

Durand  did  not  reply.  He  felt  that  he 
could  gain  nothing  by  a  confession  or  a  com- 
promise. This  calm,  resolute  man  meant 
what  he  said.  Divest  him  of  power  of  guar- 
dianship, what  guarantee  had  Durand  that 


134 

his  next  step  would  not  be  to  land  him  in 
a  felon's  cell  as  the  murderer  of  Gideon 
Vernon  ? 

He  calculated  silently  the  chances  of  de- 
feating Le  Britta's  designs.  He  realized  the 
full  value  of  that  tell-tale  negative.  Profi- 
cient in  all  the  quirks  and  turns  of  the  law, 
he  knew  that  the  negative,  together  with  Le 
Britta's  verbal  story  of  the  making  and  dis- 
appearance of  the  new  will,  and  his  own  un- 
savory reputation,  would  evoke  the  interest, 
suspicion  and  mediation  of  a  court  of  justice, 
if  nothing  more,  and  cause  a  rigid  surveill- 
ance of  his  actions  as  guardian. 

In  other  words,  the  negative  frightened 
him.  It  was  a  powerful  weapon  in  the  hands 
of  a  determined  adversary,  but  the  old  crafty 
expression  returned  to  those  sinister  eyes,  as 
Durand  recalled  Le  Britta's  story  of  the  acci- 
dental discovery  of  the  picture  in  the  camera. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  ?  "  demanded 
the  photographer. 

Durand  smiled  —  a  ghastly,  sickly  smile. 
The  corners  of  his  mouth  twitched  nervously, 
his  brow  furrowed  with  disquietude  and 
uncertainty. 


135 

"  Say  ?  "  he  gulped.  "  Why,  you've  played 
me  a  trump  card." 

"Ah  !   you  confess  that,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  suppose  old  Vernon's  lawyer  just 
chuckled  over  your  discovery." 

This  was  a  clever  feeler — a  hint  to  lead 
on  his  antagonist  to  reveal  more  that  the 
schemer  wished  to  know. 

Blunt,  straightforward,  the  honest  and  hon- 
orable Le  Britta  was  no  match  for  his  adroit 
foe  in  the  line  of  tactics  the  latter  had 
resolved  to  adopt.  Confident  in  his  strength 
and  the  integrity  of  his  position,  he  did  not 
discern  the  trap  into  which  Durand  was  lead- 
ing him. 

'  The  lawyer  ?  "  he  repeated,  vaguely. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  have  not  shown  it  to  the  lawyer  yet." 

Ralph  Durand's  eyes  glittered  with  a 
fierce,  sinister  triumph.  That  innocent  ad- 
mission raised  his  depressed  hopes  like 
magic. 

"Nor  the  doctor,  eithex,  I  suppose?"  he 
ventured. 

"  Nor  the  doctor,  either." 

'  Why,"  continued  the  crafty  schemer, 
leading  his  opponent  on  deftly,  "  I  should 


136 

have  thought  that  the  first  thing-  to  do  after 
you  discovered  your  vaunted  clue  to  all  my 
guilt  and  your  own  superb  smartness " 
here  he  sneered  audibly,  the  more  effectually 
to  throw  Le  Britta  off  his  guard  and  distract 
him  from  guessing  his  true  intentions — "I 
should  have  thought  that  the  first  thing  you 
did  was  to  perfect  your  negative,  print  a  score 
of  copies,  and  send  them  to  the  judge,  the 
lawyer,  all  your  friends  and  my  enemies  !  " 

"  No,"  spoke  Le  Britta,  bluntly.  "  I  has- 
tened here  at  once  to  see  if  I  could  not  reason 
you  into  the  right  thing.  There  is  time 
abundant  to  attend  to  all  that." 

"Is  there!" 

Ralph  Durand  half  arose  in  the  arm-chair. 
His  shrinking  helplessness  slowly  became 
the  crouching  attitude  of  a  tiger  posing  for  a 
sudden  spring. 

"Yes,  an  abundance  of  time.  But,  we 
waste  words  " 

"And  that  picture,  that  half-developed 
negative,  is  all  the  chronicle  you  have  of  this 
alleged  will  ?  " 

"  Is  it  not  enough  ?  " 

"  It  might  get  lost,  disfigured,  broken." 

"  I  shall  see  to  that." 


137 

"  I  have  an  offer  to  make  you." 

" Indeed  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  demanded  Le  Britta,  suspi- 
ciously. 

"  I  will  buy  it  of  you." 

"You!"  ' 

"  Yes.  I  offer  you  for  that  little  piece  of 
glass  one  thousand  dollars  cash.  Come,  be 
reasonable  !  You  are  concerning  yourself  in 
the  welfare  of  people  you  scarcely  know. 
Take  the  thousand  dollars,  deliver  up  the 
negative,  and  leave  people  to  fight  their  own 
battles." 

Jera  Le  Britta  flushed  scarlet. 

"  You  insulting  scoundrel,"  he  cried,  with 
flashing  eyes,  his  fists  slowly  closing  and  un- 
closing. "You  deserve  an  honest  man's  best 
efforts  at  thrashing  you.  Enough  !  I  will 
dally  no  longer  with  you.  I  take  my  evidence 
of  your  guilt  to  the  courts  of  justice." 

"  No,  ycki  never  will  !  " 

The  declaration  was  a  ringing  hiss.  Quick 
as  a  flash,  Ralph  Durand  sprang  foward. 
He  had  but  one  idea  in  his  mind — to  reach 
the  precious  negative,  secure  and  destroy  it 


138 

Upon  it  hinged  all  his  hopes  of  fortune ; 
he  knew  it,  he  realized  it  fully. 

His  move,  sudden  as  it  was,  however,  was 
intercepted  by  the  guarded  Le  Britta. 

The  photographer  divined  his  purpose. 
He  met  the  fierce  onward  rush  of  the  scoun- 
drel ere  he  was  half-way  to  the  table,  he 
seized  him  by  the  shoulders. 

Ralph  Durand  was  a  powerful  man,  an 
adroit  man,  too,  in  tricks  likely  to  baffle  and 
beat  an  unwary  foe. 

The  man,  however,  who  had  never  weak- 
ened a  splendid  constitution  with  over-indul- 
gence in  liquors  and  tobacco,  was  fully  a 
match  for  a  rum-wrecked,  nicotine-poisoned 
adversary. 

Seizing  Durand  by  the  shoulders,  he  fairly 
flung  him  straight  back  into  the  arm-chair  he 
had  just  left,  with  a  shock  that  made  the 
craven's  jaws  come  together  like  the  springs 
of  a  steel  trap. 

There  he  sat,  a  picture  of  baffled  villainy, 
a  huddled-up  mass  of  breathless,  jarred  hu- 
manity. 

"  You  sit  still,  if  you  are  wise  !  "  warned 
the  photographer,  sternly.  "  Once  more  and 
for  the  last  time,  will  you  resign  your  trust 


139 

as  guardian  of  Gladys  Vernon,  go  your  way 
until  the  law  finds  you  out  for  some  new  vil- 
lainy, or  shall  I  take  that  negative  to  a  court 
of  law  and  force  you  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  Give  me  time  to  think  !  "  pleaded  the 
breathless,  baffled  Durand. 

He  sat  scowling,  trembling  with  rage,  his 
eyes  glaring  balefully  at  the  man  who  had 
beaten  him  back  at  every  point. 

Watching  him  warily,  Le  Britta  awaited  his 
decision. 

Suddenly  Durand  sprang  to  his  feet,  just 
near  to  hand  was  the  fireplace,  and  lying 
across  its  fender  was  a  short,  heavy  iron 
poker. 

This  he  had  seized,  this  he  now  waved 
above  his  head. 

"  Never  !  "  he  fairly  yelled.  "  If  I  give  in 
in  one  point,  you  will  hound  me  down  in  a 
dozen.  Never  !  never !  never !  " 

He  poised  the  iron  missile.  Le  Britta 
supposed  that  he  meditated  a  murderous 
assault  upon  himself,  dodged,  advanced, 
sought  to  get  near  enough  to  his  nimble  foe 
to  disarm  him. 

The  poker  swayed  aloft,   cutting  the  air  in 


140 

a  swooping  circle,  until  it  wizzed  like  a 
minnie  ball. 

Then  it  left  the  hand  of  the  rascal,  but  not 
to  descend  on  the  head  of  his  unarmed  foe. 

No,  with  a  groan  of  alarm  and  startled 
dismay,  too  late  Jera  Le  Britta  comprehended 
the  full,  sinister  purpose  of  his  foe. 

The  glass  negative,  not  its  possessor,  was 
the  source  of  all  Ralph  Durand's  interest  just 
then. 

The  whirling  missile  of  iron  swept  clear 
past  Le  Britta's  dodging  head,  it  grazed  the 
table,  straight  as  an  arrow  struck  the  tilted 
fac-simile  of  Gideon  Vernon's  last  will  and 
testament. 

Crash  ! 

The  next  moment  the  precious  glass  nega- 
tive was  shattered  into  a  thousand  pieces ! 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A   NEW    SURPRISE. 

"You  scoundrel !" 

Fairly  blinded  with  anger,  the  dismayed 
and  routed  Le  Britta  sprang  forward  to  wreak 
summary  vengeance  on  the  sly,  dissimulat- 


ing  rogue  who  had  baffled  his  skill  com- 
pletely. 

With  a  groan  of  anguish  the  photographer 
comprehended  the  terribly  disastrous  de- 
nouement of  the  scene  that  had  begun  with 
an  augury  of  certain  triumph. 

Ralph  Durand  had  sank  back  into  the  arm- 
chair, with  the  gloating,  exultant  face  of  a 
fiend  rampant  and  satisfied. 

"Ha!  ha!"  he  chuckled,  jeeringly,  "who 
is  master  now,  my  smart  picture  peddler? 
Your  work  goes  for  nought ! " 

"Wretch!" 

"  Let  me  see.  I  offered  you  one  thousand 
dollars  for  your  picture.  I  would  not  give 
one  thousand  cents  just  now  !  Gather  up 
the  fragments,  my  over-sanguine  meddler! 
They  will  sell  for  old  glass." 

Le  Britta  was  too  overcome  to  speak. 
The  helplessness  of  his  position,  the  wild 
victory  of  his  opponent,  the  uselessness  of 
further  discussion  all  occurred  to  his  mind, 
as  a  glance  at  the  glass  -  littered  carpet 
showed  the  wreck  and  ruin  wrought  by  the 
well-directed  iron  missile  in  the  brawny  hand 
of  Ralph  Durand. 

He  glared  once  at  the  scoundrel,  whom  he 


142 

could  have  annihilated  with  a  look.  Then, 
turning,  he  slowly  walked  from  the  room  and 
the  house,  uttering  a  single  bitter,  ominous, 
echoing  word  of  warning  — 

"Waitt" 

Ralph  Durand  laughed  mockingly  and 
gleefully.  He  rubbed  his  hardened  palms 
together,  he  gloated  over  his  enemy's  down- 
fall, he  chuckled,  he  capered. 

Long  after  Le  Britta  had  got  out  of  sight 
of  the  villa,  he  sang  and  danced,  and  poured 
down  liberal  potations  of  fiery  brandy,  little 
reckoning  of  a  change  destined  to  come  over 
the  spirit  of  his  dreams  ere  many  days  of  his 
worthless,  scheming  existence  had  passed 
away. 

As  to  Le  Britta,  that  tramp  back  to  the 
village  was  the  bitterest  walk  of  his  life.  He 
blamed  himself  for  all  that  had  occured.  He 
reproached  and  deprecated  now  the  blind 
over-confidence  that,  tempting  him  single- 
handed  to  oppose  a  crafty  foe,  had  led  him 
into  the  greatest  error  of  his  life. 

But  all  that  was  past  now,  and,  added  to  pity 
for  wandering  Gladys  and  his  keen  sense  of 
justice,  was  a  smarting  sense  of  defeat  that 
spurred  him  on  to  take  up  anew  the  cudgel 


143 

against  Ralph  Durand,  as  a  personal  foe 
against  whom  he  bore  an  especial  personal 
grievance. 

What  should  he  do,  what  could  he  do  ? 
The  old  will,  giving  Durand  full  control  of 
the  Vernon  fortune,  and  therefore  an  undis- 
puted censorship  over  Gladys  Vernon  herself, 
could  never  be  annulled  now.  The  unscru- 
pulous swindler  was  free,  by  clear  sanction 
of  the  law,  and  Gideon  Vernon's  expression 
of  utter  confidence  in  his  power  to  wreck  this 
royal  estate,  render  its  rightful  legatee  an 
outcast,  and  defy  her  helpless  friends. 

Oh !  it  was  bitter,  torturing,  cruel,  to 
realize  ;  and,  worst  of  all,  the  object  of  his 
persecutions,  Gladys,  was  a  wanderer,  a  fugi- 
tive. Her  lover,  Sydney  Vance,  had  disap- 
peared, and  the  threads  of  their  lives  com- 
mingled in  a  tangled  skein,  the  solution  to 
which  the  crafty  Durand  alone  possessed. 

There  was  lln  element  of  the  indomitable 
and  stubborn  in  Jera  Le  Britta's  nature.  It 
had  marked  important  and  vital  issues  in 
his  life  in  the  past.  Just  now,  it  spurred 
him  on  to  action.  His  duty  was  to  return 
home.  He  had  done  all  he  could  to  ri<rht  a 

& 

great  wrong,  and  had  failed,  but  he  could  not 


144 

confess  himself  beaten,  he  could  not  endure 
the  thought  that  he  had  undertaken  a  great 
task  and  had  failed  in  its  accomplishment, 
and  must,  perforce,  shrink  from  the  field  with 
drooping  colors. 

"  I  will  learn  the  truth.  I  will  evolve 
consistency  from  this  tangled  complication  !  " 
he  uttered,  forcibly,  and,  just  arrived  at  that 
conclusion,  he  came  face  to  face  at  the  edge 
of  the  town  with  the  village  lawyer. 

Mr.  Munson  greeted  him  cordially,  more 
than  that,  effusively.  His  thoughtful  eyes 
glowed  with  excitement  as  he  intuitively 
traced  in  Le  Britta's  presence  there  a  subtle 
connection  with  the  Vernon  interests." 

"What  news?"  he  queried,  expectantly. 

"  None  of  any  great  cheer  or  encourage- 
ment," replied  the  photographer,  in  a  de- 
pressed tone.  "  And  you  ?  " 

"  The  doctor  and  myself  have  sent  a  detec- 
tive to  trace  and  bring  back  poor  Gladys." 

"  Has  he  found  her  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  Another  officer  is  looking  out 
for  her  lover,  Sydney  Vance.  Rome  was  not 
built  in  a  day.  It  takes  time  to  follow  an 
obscure  trail.  We  shall  have  some  word 
shortly." 


H5 

"I  hope  so,"  murmured  Le  Britta.  "I 
have  something  to  tell  you." 

"Yes?" 

"  Hut  not  of  a  very  inspiriting  nature." 

"  Your  face  tells  me  that." 

Le  Britta  related  his  story  of  the  discovery 
and  fate  of  the  glass  negative. 

The  lawyer  looked  startled  at  the  thrilling 
recital. 

"Too  bad!"  he  commented  when  the 
photographer  had  completed  his  graphic  nar- 
rative ;  "  too  bad,  indeed  !  " 

"  The  negative  was  an  important  clue  ?  " 

"  Decisive,  I  should  say  ;  but  we  won't  cry 
over  spilled  milk.  That  scoundrel  of  a  Dur- 
and  is  a  desperate  man,  but  we  shall  catch 
him  napping  yet." 

"I  doubt  it." 

"The  sleekest  rogues  forget  to  bar  their 
doors,  sometimes." 

"  He  is  always  on  his  guard." 

"  You  talk  hopelessly." 

"  Of  finding  out  something  by  remaining 
quiescent  ? --Yes.  I  believe  in  personal  ef- 
fort, Mr.  Munson  ;  I  do  not  pretend  to  any 
particular  detective  ability,  but  I  am  going  to 
try  to  see  what  I  can  do  by  watching  this 


146 

knave.  For  all  we  know,  he  has  tracked 
Gladys.  He  may  have  her  a  captive  some- 
where, he  may  connive  at  her  death.  He 
may  have  some  scheme  to  later  come  in  and 
inherit  or  claim  the  property  personally. 
The  stake  he  plays  for  is  a  large  one,  and 
he  will  win,  if  left  undisturbed." 

The  lawyer  looked  impressed  and  serious. 

"  You  are  talking  sense,  Mr.  Le  Britta," 
he  remarked,  gravely. 

"  Of  course,"  pursued  the  photographer, 
"  I  am  a  comparative  stranger  to  Miss 
Vernon,  but  I  have  a  heart,  sympathies,  that 
impell  me  to  do  my  duty.  I  must,  I  shall, 
find  this  poor  girl.  I  cannot  rest  until 
I  know  her  fate.  I  shall  make  all  my  ar- 
rangements to  devote  a  week,  or  months  if 
need  be,  in  her  behalf." 

"In  other  words,  you  will  personally  take 
up  the  trail  ?  " 

"Yes." 

The  lawyer's  eyes  sparkled  with  genuine 
admiration,  and  he  grasped  Le  Britta's  hand 
warmly. 

"You  are  a  noble  man,  Mr.  Le  Britta !  " 
he  murmured,  with  strong  emotion.  "I  can 
rely  on  you.  Command  my  co-operation 


147 

and  my  bank-account.  I  feel  now  that  we 
will  succeed." 

Once  started  on  a  case,  Jera  Le  Britta 
was  a  hard  man  to  dissuade  from  his  purpose. 
He  remained  at  the  village  that  day  and 
the  next,  "looking  over  the  ground,"  as  he 
called  it. 

What  he  learned  he  did  not  impart  to 
either  the  lawyer  or  the  doctor,  for  it  con- 
sisted of  trivial  suspicions  and  suggestions. 

'To-morrow,"  he  said  to  the  lawyer  that 
night,  "  I  shall  obtain  a  suitable  disguise  ; 
to-morrow  I  shall  take  up  the  trail  at  Haw- 
thorne villa.  First,  I  shall  strive  to  locate 
the  missing  Sydney  Vance." 

"  And  not  Gladys  ?  "  ejaculated  the  lawyer, 
surprised. 

"  No  ;  for  she,  I  am  sanguine,  is  resolute 
in  hiding  from  friend  and  foe  alike.  Vance, 
on  the  contrary,  I  feel  sure,  is  a  prisoner  in 
the  power  of  Ralph  Durand,  or  has  been 
murdered  by  him.  Fasten  such  a  crime  on 
Durand,  or  find  Vance  and  get  his  story  of 
the  death  of  Gideon  Vernon,  and  we  have  a 
tangible  basis  to  proceed  upon.  Then, 
Durand  once  deposed,  do  not  fear  but  that 
Gladys  will  return.  She  will  be  watching 


148 

the  outcome  of  events  at  Hawthorne  villa 
from  a  distance,  rest  assured  of  that." 

"  The  best-laid  plans  of  men  and  mice 
gang  oft  agley  ! "  however,  as  Jera  Le  Britta 
realized  that  evening. 

For,  on  the  eve  of  devoting  all  his  ener- 
gies toward  probing  the  great  Vernon 
mystery  personally,  that  very  evening  the 
clerk  at  the  hotel  handed  him  a  sealed  en- 
velope. 

It  was  a  telegraphic  dispatch,  and  was 
dated  that  afternoon  from  his  home. 

"Return  at  once,"  read  the  mystifying 
message.  "  Vernon  case.  Important." 

And  it  was  signed,  stranger  still,  by  his 
old-time  friend,  Dr.  Richard  Milton. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
"FINDERS  KEEPERS." 

JERA  LE  BRITTA  was  surprised,  more  than 
that,  absolutely  startled,  as  he  perused  the 
innocent-looking  message  that  bore  so  strange 
and  unexpected  a  revelation. 

Its  mandate,  advising  urgency,  was  per- 
emptory, its  wording  mysterious.  At  first, 


149 

he  feared  that  it  might  indicate  trouble  in  his 
business.  A  year  previous,  a  fire  had  caused 
havoc  and  disruption  of  business  temporarily 
in  his  studio,  and  he  had  experienced  anxiety 
ever  since  on  the  same  score.  Illness  in  his 
family,  too,  might  be  imminent.  But,  no ! 
neither  business  nor  domestic  complication 
had  incited  the  telegram,  the  potographer 
felt  sure  of  that  after  a  second  perusal,  for  the 
mystic  interpolation,  "  Vernon  case,"  betrayed 
the  real,  actuating  influence  behind  the  action 
of  his  friend  Doctor  Milton. 

"  What  can  it  mean  ?  Vernon  case !  "  cog- 
itated the  startled  LeBritta.  "Doctor  Dick 
is  no  sensationalist,  no  alarmist.  He's  too 
cool  and  methodical  for  that.  He  knows  all 
about  the  Vernons,  for  I  told  him.  Can  it  be 
possible  that  he  has  made  some  important 
discovery  —  some  new  evidence  in  the  cam- 
era ?  Pshaw !  that  is  impossible.  Has  he 
found  a  trace  rof  Gladys  accidentally? 
Scarcely  ;  what  then  ?  The  only  way  to  find 
out  is  to  return  home.  Yes,  I  must  leave  af- 
fairs in  abeyance  here  for  a  few  days.  I  must 
learn  what  Dick  has  discovered." 

Le  Britta  took  the  first  train  homeward- 
bound.  Late  as  the  hour  was  when  he 


reached  his  destination,  he  went  straight  to 
the -office  of  his  friend.  A  light  showed  at 
its  outside  window. 

Tap  !  tap  ! 

"Come  in." 

"Jera!" 

"Dick!" 

"  You  got  my  message  ?  " 

"  I  would  not  be  here  if  I  hadn't,  for  I  was 
deep  in  mystery  and  work.  What  is  it," 
queried  the  photographer,  eagerly. 

"  What  I  telegraphed  you,  the  Vernon 
case." 

"Why!  Dick" 

"  You  wonder  how  I  come  to  discover  any- 
thing about  it,  way  off  here,  away  from  its 
center  of  operations." 

"It.puzzles  me,  I  must  confess." 

"Still,  I  have." 

"  Ah  !  a  trace  of  the  girl  ?  " 

"  Primarily,  yes." 

"You  mean  that  you  have  found  out  where 
she  is  hiding  ?  " 

"Not  at  all." 

"Then" 

"  Yesterday,"  and  Doctor  Milton  drew  a 
newspaper  from  a  table  near  by,  "  I  chanced 


to  look  over  a  journal  published  in  a  city  not 
a  hundred  miles  from  here." 

"Go  on." 

"  Glancing  over  its  columns,  I  came  upon  a 
queer-reading  advertisement." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  Read  for  yourself." 

Doctor  Milton  folded  down  the  paper, 
and,  his  finger  marking  a  column  headed 
"  Personal,"  indicated  one  of  the  advertise- 
ments under  that  heading. 

Eagerly  Le  Britta  perused  the  little  item. 
It  read : 

"  G.  V.  :  Communicate  with  me  at  H.  V. 
immediately.  I  and  I  alone  have  news  of 
S.  V.  Would  you  save  him  ?  Then  do  not 
delay.  R.  D." 

Le  Britta  looked  up  with  an  excited  face. 

"  You  understand  ?  "  queried  the  doctor,  in 
an  impressive  tone. 

"Yes;  a  message  from  Ralph  Durand  to 
Gladys  Vernon,  telling  her  to  write  to  Haw- 
thorne villa  if  she  would  save  her  missing 
lover,  Sydney  Vance." 

"  Exactly.  It  struck  me  the  minute  I  saw 
the  initials,  for  I  remembered  all  you  had  told 
me  about  this  strangely  mysterious  case." 


152 

"  It  proves  what  I  have  surmised  all  along." 

"And  that  is?" 

"That  Ralph  Durand  was  instrumental  in 
the  disappearance  of  Sydney  Vance,  and  now 
knows  where  is." 

"  It  looks  that  way." 

"  Durand  knows  that  through  Vance  only 
can  he  influence  Gladys  to  return  to  the  villa." 

"  But  why  should  he  wish  it?" 

"That  his  future  plottings  will  show.  And 
this  was  why  you  telegraphed  me?" 

"  Not  at  all." 

"Eh!"  ejaculated  Le  Britta,  vaguely. 
"  There  is  something  else  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"What?  Hello!  What's  that,  Dick?  A 
visitor — some  one  overhearing  our  conver- 
sation ! " 

Le  Britta  had  started  quite  violently,  for 
just  then  from  the  next  apartment  echoed  a 
faint  sound  like  the  moan  or  sigh  of  a  human 
voice. 

"No  listener,  no  fear  of  that,  Jera,  but 
some  one  is  there." 

"Who?" 

"The  man  whose  strange  discovery  caused 
me  to  send  that  telegram." 


153 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Le  Britta,  excitedly. 
"  You  put  me  on  nettles,  Dick  ! " 

"  When  I  mentioned  the  Vernon  case  in 
my  telegram,"  pursued  the  doctor,  "  I  referred 
to  him.  Listen." 

Briefly,  Doctor  Milton  told  the  story  of  the 
injured  tramp.  He  explained  how  he  had 
come  to  take  him  from  pity  under  his  own 
roof,  and  dwelt  particularly  on  the  sufferer's 
ravings  about  being  rich,  about  his  secrets, 
and  about  Hawthorne  villa. 

"  It  startled  me,  Jera,"  explained  the 
doctor,  "to  hear  a  tramp,  a  stranger,  mention 
names  fresh  in  my  memory  from  your  lips  in 
connection  with  the  Vernon  case  that  very 
same  day.  It  puzzled  and  interested  me.  I 
watched,  I  studied  the  man.  For  days  I 
have  been  working  over  him.  This  morning 
I  attempted  a  great  experiment  to  save  his 
arm.  To-night,  the  symptoms  of  brain  suf- 
fering were  so  definite,  that  I  fear  he  is 
beyond  surgical  aid,  and  I  sent  for  you." 

"Then  you  have  made  some  new  dis- 
covery about  him  ? " 

"Yes  ;  early  this  afternoon  he  had  quite  a 
lucid  spell.  He  made  me  tell  him  all  about 
his  injuries.  When  I  had  done  so  he 


154 

moaned  despairingly,  and  told  me  that  while 
he  knew  my  experiment  might  have  saved 
him  from  becoming  a  cripple  had  he  lived,  he 
felt  that  he  was  doomed." 

"And  you  think  so." 

"  I  fear  it  The  injury  to  the  brain  is  per- 
manent. Then  I  began  to  question  him 
about  his  singular  reference  to  Hawthorne 
villa." 

"And  what  did  he  say?" 

"At  first  he  fought  shy  of  making  any 
revelation.  He  kept  muttering  that  'finders 
were  keepers/  and  that  he  was  '  rich,  rich, 
rich.'  Then,  some  sudden  twinge  of  pain 
caused  him  to  think  of  his  dreaded  death. 
He  grew  affrighted,  then  grateful  for  the 
great  kindness  of  an  utter  stranger,  as  he 
chose  to  consider  my  slight  services,  and 
then  he  burst  into  tears,  and  said  that  he 
would  tell  me  all  his  story." 

"  Dick,  you  interest  me  deeply ! "  ex- 
claimed the  absorbed  Le  Britta,  startled  and 
hopeful  at  the  same  time. 

"  He  was  a  tramp,  he  said,"  continued 
Doctor  Milton,  "and  a  tramp  with  rather  a 
low  estimate  of  honesty.  A  certain  night, 
and,  Jera,  he  named  the  very  night  that 


155 

Gideon  Vernon  was  murdered  at  Hawthorne 
villa,  he  was  in  its  vicinity.  He  said  it  was 
about  dusk,  and,  as  he  was  just  going  around 
to  the  back  door  of  the  mansion  to  beg  a 
mouthful  of  food,  he  saw  a  man,  an  old  man, 
Gideon  Vernon  himself,  he  afterward  ascer- 
tained to  a  certainty,  climb  from  the  window 
of  his  sick-room  out  into  the  garden." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  impossible,"  ejaculated  the 
incredulous  Le  Britta. 

It  seemed  so  to  him,  for  the  photographer 
had  not  been  aware  of  the  tragic  incident  of 
the  last  hour  of  Gideon  Vernon's  life  —  of 
his  dread  and  discovery  of  the  lurking 
Durand,  of  the  strong  stimulant  he  had 
taken,  of  how  he  had  sought  to  remove  the 
iron  box  from  the  cabinet,  so  that  the  lurker 
by  no  chance  might  secure  and  despoil  it. 

"The  tramp  is  positive,"  continued  the 
doctor.  "  He  says  his  curiosity  was  evoked, 
and  he  hid  and  then  followed  Mr.  Vernon. 
His  cupidity  was  aroused  as  he  saw  him  open 
the  cover  of  the  box,  and  a  royal  store  of 
jewels  and  bank-notes  showed.  Mr.  Vernon 
hurried  through  the  garden,  reach  the  ravine 
behind  it,  and  suddenly  disappeared  behind 
a  rock.  By  some  secret  ledge  unknown  to 


156 

the  tramp,  he  reached  a  spot  down  the  cliff- 
side.  The  tramp  marked  the  place  —  the 
rock,  the  shelf  of  stone.  Mr.  Vernon  re- 
turned empty-handed.  He  could  scarcely 
stagger  back  to  the  house  for  weakness. 
Evidently  fearing  Durand,  he  had  hidden, 
his  available  treasure.  The  tramp  still  fol- 
lowed him.  He  saw  him  return  to  the  house. 
The  next  morning  he  came  to  locate  the 
ravine,  intent  upon  finding  the  treasure. 
Then  he  heard  of  Mr.  Vernon's  murder.  It 
frightened  him.  Here  he  was,  a  suspicious 
character,  hanging  around  the  villa.  They 
might  suspect  him." 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"  Fled  from  the  place ;  first,  however,  care- 
fully noting  the  spot  in  the  vicinity  of  which 
the  little  iron  box  had  surely  been  secreted. 
Mr.  Vernon  had  died  with  the  secret  of  its 
hiding-place  locked  in  his  breast.  The  tramp 
felt  that  he  had  a  right  to  it.  He  decided  to 
remain  away  until  the  'murder-scare,'  as  he 
termed  it,  was  over.  Then  he  would  return, 
secure  it,  and  enjoy  a  fortune  which,  to  his 
loose  code  of  morals,  came  under  the  head- 
ing, 'finders  keepers."1 

Jera  Le  Britta  was  deeply  startled  at  this 


157 

graphic  narrative.  He  realized  how  reason- 
able it  all  was.  But  what  did  the  box  con- 
tain ?  \Vas  it  really  valuable  ? 

"The  tramp,"  began  Doctor  Milton  again, 
"then  told  me  that  this  box  he  could  direct 
me  to.  He  bequeathed  it  to  me,  if  he  died. 
I  smiled  at  the  idea  of  consenting  to  receive 
other  people's  money,  but  I  knew  how  glad 
you  would  be  to  secure  even  this  faint  clue  to 
a  new  complication  in  a  case  that  so  inter- 
ested you.  About  to  tell  me  something 
more,  the  tramp  fell  back,  insensible,  again. 
He  cannot  stand  many  more  of  these  fainting 
shocks.  I  thought  it  best  to  send  for  you, 
and  telegraphed  you." 

"And  the  man?" 

"  Has  lain  in  a  state  of  coma  ever  since." 

"  With  his  secret  half  told  ?  " 

"As  you  know." 

"  Doctor,"  spoke  ^Le  Britta,  energetically, 
"  you  must  revive  him  !  " 

"  It  may  be  impossible." 

"Temporarily?" 

"I  can  try  it." 

"  He  must  tell  us  definitely  where  that  box 
is  hidden  !  " 

Doctor  Milton    took  up  a  medicine  case, 


extracted  a  small,  delicate,  hypodermic 
syringe,  and  filled  it  with  some  colorless 
liquid  from  a  phial. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  I  will  try  to  revive  the 
man.  I  will  try  to  secure  the  secret  of  the 
hiding-place  of  Gideon  Vernon's  box  of  val- 
uables." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
THE  TRAMP'S  SECRET. 

NOISELESSLY  Dr.  Richard  Milton  and  his 
companion  entered  the  sick-room. 

Jera  Le  Britta  stood  curiously  viewing  the 
outlined  form  upon  the  couch.  As  the  doctor 
carefully  turned  up  the  lamp,  its  rays  plainly 
illumined  the  object  that  centered  the  atten- 
tion of  the  photographer. 

The  face  of  the  tramp-patient  was  white 
and  bloodless,  his  unkempt  shock  of  hair  and 
straggling  beard  looked  not  at  all  confidence- 
inspiring,  but  from  a  survey  of  his  features 
to  his  injured  arm,  Le  Britta  gazed  with 
wildly-distended  eyes. 

That  arm  was  strapped  at  wrist  and 
shoulder  across  an  iron  frame.  It  was  bare 
save  for  a  piece  of  almost  invisible  gauze, 


159 

saturated  with  some  oily  wash,  and  it  looked 
like  a  mottled  checker-board  in  its  strange, 
puzzling  appearance. 

"  Why  !  Dick  !  "  murmured  Le  Britta, 
"that  arm" 

"Was  the  injured  member.  It  was  in  a 
shape  that  no  ordinary  surgical •  care  could 
adjust.  It  was  either  amputation  or  a  crip- 
pled member  for  life,  so  I  set  myself  to  work 
to  experiment." 

"You  mean?" 

"  Skin-grafting." 

Le  Britta  started  intelligently. 

"Yes,"  continued  Doctor  Milton,  his  face 
kindling  with  professional  pride  and  confi- 
dence, "  I  wanted  to  save  the  poor  fellow 
months  of  suffering.  Yesterday  I  gave  out 
through  the  town  what  I  intended  to  do. 
Humanity  and  curiosity  alike  brought  me  all 
the  people  I  needed.  From  each  I  took  an 
inch  0f  cuticle,  and  transplanted  it  in  patches 
on  my  patient's  arm.  You  see  how  it  is  cov- 
ered ?  I  have  given  him  what  nature  cannot 
supply  in  this  instance,  a  new  cuticle,  consist- 
ing of  one  hundred  and  forty-two  adhesive 
plasters  of  other  people's  skin  —  farmers' 
cuticle,  ministers'  cuticle,  girls'  cuticle,  boys' 


i6o 

cuticle  ;  a  mixture,  but  all  necessary.  If  the 
man  recovers,  he  will  owe  his  perfect  arm  to 
the  kindness  of  a  large  number  of  fellow- 
beings.  If  there  is  a  moral  as  well  as  a 
physical  transplanting,  may  be  he  will  assimi- 
late some  better  qualities  in  that  sadly-neg- 
lected nature  of  his." 

Jera  Le  Britta  did  not  reply  to  his  friend's 
half-jocular  exordium.  He  admitted  and  ap- 
preciated his  genius,  and  marveled  at  the 
deftness  that  admitted  of  his  scientifically 
supplying  a  man  denuded  of  vital  accessories 
to  perfect  cuticle-exudation,  with  a  practically 
new  set  of  pores  to  his  skin. 

He  watched  silently  as  the  doctor  bared 
the  other  arm  of  the  patient,  applied  the 
point  of  the  tiny  glass  instrument  in  his 
hand,  and  hypodermically  injected  a  powerful 
stimulant  into  the  laggard  veins. 

The  sufferer  on  the  couch  winced,  shrank 
and  moaned.  Watched  breathlessly  by  doc- 
tor and  photographer,  his  lips  began  to 
twitch,  his  eyelids  quivered. 

There  was  a  noticeable  dilation  of  the  nos- 
trils, his  pulse  quickened,  his  respirations 
grew  faster,  he  sighed,  opened  his  eyes,  fixed 
them  on  vacancy,  then  on  the  doctor,  and 


then,  an  expression  of  mingled  horror  and 
concern  on  his  homely  features,  he  gasped 
out  — 

"I've  got  to  die  !  " 

"Calmly,  my  friend,  calmly!"  urged  the 
doctor  in  gentle  tones.  '  You  are  doing  re- 
markably well." 

"Yes,  but  this  weight  on  my  head  —  this 
horrible  throbbing  !  No  !  no  !  I  am  doomed. 
Doctor,  I  didn't  tell  you" 

"  Do  not  concern  yourself  about  anything. 
Think  placidly,  talk  slowly." 

"  Yes,  but  maybe  I  have  only  a  few  min- 
utes to  live  !  "  shuddered  the  tramp.  "  No, 
yours  was  the  first  kind  hand  lifted  to  aid  me 
in  the  long  years,  the  first  unselfish  act  from 
the  heart.  You  shall  be  rich  —  rich  !  In  the 
sole  of  my  left  shoe  —  the  paper  that  tells  — 
the  secret  —  the  hiding  place  " 

Fainter  and  fainter  sounded  the  gasping 
voice.  The  man's  eyes  closed  spasmodically, 
his  breath  came  short  and  labored. 

"  Wait !  "  murmured  Doctor  Milton,  man- 
datorily,  as  Le  Britta  moved  to  leave  the. 
room. 

"  Ah  !  I  forgot."  Again  the  sufferer  started 
up,  this  time  a  piteous,  haunted  expression 


,162 

on  his  face.  "  Doctor  !  they  can't  drag  me 
into  the  net  for  murder  if  I  didn't  do  it,  can 
they  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  my  poor  fellow/' 

"  And  if  I  tell  you,  to  unburden  my  coward 
conscience,  and  I  should  happen  to  live,  they 
can't  say  it  was  a  lie,  and,  as  I  was  there,  I 
must  have  done  the  murder  myself,  the  mur- 
der of  that  old  man,  Gideon  Vernon  ?  " 

"  Mercy  !  what  is  all  this  ? "  gasped  the 
startled  Le  Britta. 

"  No  !  no  I "  urged  the  doctor,  soothingly, 
"tell  me  what  it  is.  You  saw  him  killed?" 

"  Yes.  I  was  at  the  veranda,  watching. 
A  man  stole  in  at  the  window,  I  saw  him. 
Another  young  man  came  in  to  find  the  old 
man  dying  a  minute  later,  but  he  did  not  do 
the  deed.  He  ran  after  the  real  murderer, 
the  man  dressed  as  a  tramp." 

"  Ah  !  Ralph  Durand  ! "  ejaculated  Le 
Britta.  "Do  you  hear,  Dick?  This  man's 
evidence  would  hang  Ralph  Durand  !  " 

"Hang?  no,  they  sha'n't  hang  me  !  Who 
are  you  ?  "  shrieked  the  tramp,  for  the  first 
time  noticing  Le  Britta.  "  Save  me,  doctor! 
save  me,  save  " 


1 63 

He  sank  back.  Rigid,  lifeless,  he  lay  upon 
the  couch. 

''Is  he  dying,  Dick?"  breathed  Le  Britta, 
anxiously. 

"No,  but  I  fear"  -began  Doctor  Milton, 
gravely. 

"What?" 

"  These  fainting  shocks  weaken  him.  Ah  ! 
I  feared  it !  the  fever  again." 

"  If  he  could  only  be  revived  to  recognize 
Ralph  Durand  ?  " 

"  Impossible.  I  will  not  have  him  dis- 
turbed again.  His  life,  his  reason  quiver  in 
the  balance  even  now.  I  do  not  know  if  I 
can  save  him,  but  I  will  try." 

"Try,  try,  indeed!"  urged  the  photog- 
rapher, earnestly.  "  For  his  own  sake,  for 
Gladys  Vernon's  sake,  for  he,  he  alone  knows 
the  hand  that  struck  down  Gideon  Vernon !  " 

The  doctor  watched  his  patient  for  some 
moments.  Then  he  went  out  into  the  next 
apartment,  whither  Le  Britta  had  preceded 
him. 

In  his  hand  he  bore  one  of  the  shoes  which 
belonged  to  the  tramp. 

"Oh!  the  paper  he  talked  about,  the 
secret  document  that  tells  where  the  box  of 


164 

treasure  is  hidden ! "  exclaimed  Le  Britta, 
interested.  "  I  had  almost  forgotten  about 
that,  amid  the  startling  importance  of  his 
reference  to  the  murder." 

Silently  Dr.  Richard  Milton  drew  out 
some  wooden  pegs  from  the  worn  sole  of  the 
tramp's  shoe. 

"  Here  it  is,"  he  announced,  taking  out  a 
flat,  folded  envelope. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    MISSING    LINK. 

"WHAT  is  it?"  queried  Le  Britta,  pressing 
eagerly  forward  to  the  side  of  his  companion. 

"  So  far,  only  a  dirty,  wrinkled  heavy  ma- 
nilla  envelope. 

"  But  it  has  some  kind  of  an  inclosure." 

"  I  shall  soon  learn." 

Le  Britta  was  beginning  to  get  excited. 

That  day  had  held  so  many  startling  epi- 
sodes in  store  for  him,  that  he  felt  neither 
hunger  nor  fatigue.  He  could  not  but  recog- 
nize the  strange  fatuity  of  circumstance.  Here 
he  had  been  delving  at  Hawthorne  villa  for 
facts,  and  his  friend,  miles  distant,  had  dis- 


covered  clues  that  seemingly  encompassed 
the  most  vital  issues  of  the  case  in  hand. 

If  the  outcome  of  these  revelations  were 
ample,  and  as  expected,  the  fortunes  of 
Gladys  Vernon  would  soon  be  bettered  and 
brightened. 

Arranging  them  in  order,  Jera  Le  Britta 
realized  that  he  had  three  distinct  points  of 
vantage  on  which  to  base  new  operations. 

First,  the  advertisement  for  Gladys  Ver- 
non, showing  conclusively  that  Ralph  Durand 
knew  positively  of  the  whereabouts  of  her 
accused  lover,  Sydney  Vance. 

Second,  the  evidence  of  the  dying  tramp, 
proving  indubitably  the  guilt  of  Ralph  Du- 
rand as  the  assassin  of  Gideon  Vernon. 

Third,  the  possession  of  the  document  or 
documents  secreted  in  the  sole  of  the  tramp's 
shoe,  referring,  without  question,  to  a  certain 
iron  box,  containing,  possibly,  the  bulk  of 
dead  Gideon  Vernon's  ready-cash  fortune. 

Documents  these  were,  or,  rather,  slips  of 
paper,  three  in  number.  From  the  envelope, 
creased  and  crushed  from  heavy  foot-press- 
ure, the  doctor  now  drew  three  half-sheets  of 
writing-paper. 


1 66 

The  first  was  a  rude  scrawl,  evidently  in- 
dited at  the  tramp's  instigation. 

Deciphered,  it  read — 

"  I,  Dave  Wharton,  have  made  a  big  dis- 
covery—  a  box  of  gold  and  jewels.  Finders 
keepers,  as  the  owner  is  dead.  I  get  a  man 
to  write  this  at  Dalton,  because  I  might  for- 
get." 

Dalton  was  the  first  town  west  of  Haw- 
thorne villa.  Here  the  tramp,  in  his  flight 
from  the  scene  of  the  murder,  had  evidently 
induced  some  stranger  to  scrawl  the  mes- 
sage. 

The  second  piece  of  paper  was  in  a  totally 
different  handwriting.  It  ran : 

"  Go  to  the  villa.  I  know  where.  Then 
down  the  road  to  where  a  path  strikes  the 
ravine.  This  is  written  at  Springford.  I 
don't  let  anybody  know  the  whole  affair  ex- 
cept myself,  so  I  get  my  secret  written  in 
sections." 

"  Do  you  see  !  "  exclaimed  Doctor  Milton, 
looking  up.  "  He  was  quite  clever.  Fear- 
ing he  might  forget  the  description  of  the 
place  where  he  saw  the  iron  box  hidden,  he 
had  different  people  write  according  to  his 
dictation.  The  last  piece  of  paper,  written 


167 

at  the  next  town  on  his  tramp,  will  probably 
complete  the  description  of  the  hiding-place 
of  the  treasure.  Yes,  here  it  is." 

The  third  strip  of  paper  began : 

"  You  go  down  the  ravine  north,  until  you 
come  to  a  large  " — 

There  the  chronicle  stopped,  abruptly,  def- 
initely. 

"  Go  on  !  "  urged  the  interested  Le  Britta. 

'There  is  no  more  to  go  on  with,"  replied 
Doctor  Milton. 

"Why  not?" 

"  The  rest  of  the   writing  is  obliterated." 

"  What  ? " 

"  Yes,  see  ?  " 

"Too  bad!" 

Le  Britta  observed  that  the  pencil  marks, 
in  the  remainder  of  the  sheet,  had  become  a 
blur  of  vagueness.  The  tramp  had  trusted 
his  precious  secret  to  rather  an  unsafe  place 
of  hiding.  Dampness  had  penetrated  the 
thin  sole  of  his  shoe,  it  had,  too,  reached  the 
inclosure  in  the  envelope. 

"  I  declare,  this  is  provoking,"  commented 
Le  Britta. 

"  Well,  don't  fret  about  it,"  enjoined  the 
doctor,  philosophically.  "  It  may  not  be  so 


1 68 

difficult  to  find  by  inquiry  who  wrote  the  last 
scrawl  for  the  tramp  ;  besides,  you  have  a 
pretty  fair  idea  that  somewhere  in  the  ravine 
near  Hawthorne  villa  that  treasure-box  is 
hidden." 

"  You  .  have  no  idea  of  the  curves  and 
windings  of  that  same  ravine,"  replied  Le 
Britta,  "  or  you  would  think  as  soon  of  hunt- 
ing for  a  needle  in  a  hay-stack  as  for  a  little 
iron  box  among  the  innumerable  boulders 
and  fissures  of  the  ravine  in  question." 

"  Then  let  us  assume  that  this  last  disfig- 
ured scrawl  the  tramp  had  written  at  the 
third  town  west  of  Hawthorne  villa." 

"  Well,  suppose  that  ?  " 

"  When  you  have  time,  go  there.  Cross- 
ville  is  a  small  settlement.  You  can  easily 
get  a  trace  of  the  tramp's  visit,  locate  the 
man  who  wrote  the  note  for  him,  and  get  him 
to  repeat  its  contents." 

"  If  he  remembers  the  same." 

"  He  probably  will.  See  here,  Le  Britta  ! 
I  imagine  we've  had  enough  excitement  for 
one  night.  It  is  getting  very  late.  We  both 
need  sleep.  -  My  whole  efforts  shall  be  di- 
rected to  making  my  patient  recover,  so  that 
his  evidence  may  convict  Ralph  Durand  of 


the  murder  of  Gideon  Vernon.  Your  im- 
petuous nature  will  probably  not  allow  you 
to  rest  until  you  have  found  this  mysterious 
hidden  box.  You  can't  do  anything  more 
to-night.  Go  home,  and  we  will  have 
another  talk  over  the  affair  in  the  morning." 

"  Good  advice,  Dick  !  I'm  off.  You've 
made  a  great  discovery,  old  friend,  and  I  be- 
gin to  see  the  light  at  the  end  of  all  this  plot 
and  mystery  at  last,  thanks  to  you  !  " 

"Thanks  to  the  tramp,  you  mean,  Jera." 

"As  you  like,  only  the  facts  are  there  all 
the  same." 

Le  Britta  started  from  the  doctor's  rooms. 
He  peered  sharply  down  the  unlighted  cor- 
ridor, as  he  fancied  he  heard  a  rustling  sound 
at  its  farther  end.  Then  bidding  Doctor 
Milton  good-night,  he  started  for  the  street. 

"I  declare  !  some  one  was  lurking  in  the 
hall !  "  he  ejaculated,  as  he  saw  a  stealthy 
form  steal  from  the  lower  doorway,  and  dis- 
appear in  the  darkness  and  gloom  of  the 
night. 

He  ascribed  his  fears  to  fancy,  the  identity 
of  the  lurker,  if  there  really  had  been  such, 
to  some  homeless  tramp,  as  he  proceeded 
homeward. 


170 

He  never  imagined  that  Ralph  Durand,  as 
shrewd  as  his  antagonists,  might  have  set  a  spy 
to  watch  his  movements. 

If  such  was,  indeed,  the  case,  and  that  spy 
had  overhead  all  the  conversation  in  the  doc- 
tor's office,  he  must  know  of  the  witness  to 
the  crime,  and  the  precious  treasure-box  hid- 
den in  the  winding  ravine  of  Hawthorne  villa  ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ART    PHOTOGRAPHIC. 

MORNING  brought  more  mature  reflection 
to  Jera  Le  Britta.  A  placid  sleep,  an  hour 
spent  with  the  children  at  the  late  breakfast 
table,  cheered  and  revivified  his  fagged  facul- 
ties like  a  cordial. 

He  had  an  abundance  to  think  over,  and, 
in  the  light  of  recent  revelations,  he  saw  less 
occasion  for  a  speedy  return  to  Hawthorne 
villa  than  the  day  previous. 

Then,  with  no  clues  in  sight,  only  a  seem- 
ing muddle,  he  was  driven  to  the  desperate 
expedient  of  single-handed  seeking  to  learn 
the  hiding  place  of  Gladys  Vernon,  the 


whereabouts  of  her  missing  lover,  Sydney 
Vance. 

Now,  all  his  thoughts  were  centered  upon 
Ralph  Durand.  He  was  master  of  the  situ- 
ation at  present.  Depose  him,  and  subordi- 
nate details  would  harmoniously  adjust  them- 
selves. 

The  evidence  of  the  tramp,  Dave  Wharton, 
would  convict  Ralph  Durand.  That  meant 
the  establishing  of  the  complete  innocence  of 
Sydney  Vance,  and  that,  in  turn,  would  en- 
able Gladys  Vernon  to  return  home,  without 
the  dread  of  having  a  sinister  foe  as  a  guard- 
ian, or  condemning  her  lover  by  her  evi- 
dence. 

But  Dave  Wharton  might  die  ?  Even  if 
he  lived,  weeks  might  elapse  ere  he  could 
appear  in  a  court  of  justice,  and  meantime, 
Gladys  Vernon  might  be  decoyed  to  the  villa 
by  the  threatening  Ralph  Durand,  and,  put  out 
of  the  way,  her  lover  might  be  doomed. 
No  !  Le  Britta  could  not  bear  the  thought  of 
lying  inactive.  He  must  be  at  work  in  the 
interests  of  imperiled  innocence,  and  he  re- 
solved first  and  foremost  to  try  and  secure  a 
reproduction  of  the  missing  directions  as  to  the 
hidden  treasure-box,  and  then  to  covertly  and 


172 

in  disguise  watch  Hawthorne  villa,  in  the 
hopes  that  Gladys  might  return  thither ;  to 
warn  and  rescue  her,  to  learn,  if  possible, 
where  Ralph  Durand  had  Sydney  Vance  im- 
prisoned, or  held  under  his  baleful  spell  of 
terror. 

But  fate  ordained  a  far  different  programme 
for  that  day.  Arrived  at  his  studio,  Le  Britta 
was  startled  with  the  quick  query  from  his 
fair  assistant : 

"  Mr.  Le  Britta,  have  you  seen  them  ?  " 

"  Them  who  ?  "  queried  the  photographer, 
wonderingly. 

"  Four  men  looking  for  you,  and  bound  to 
find  you,  they  said." 

"  Why  !  who  are  they  "  —  began  Le  Britta, 
vaguely. 

"They  said  they  were  officers,"  demurely 
announced  Miss  Maud. 

"Officers!"  gasped  Le  Britta,  "looking 
for  me." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Maud,  a  roguish  twinkle 
in  her  eye  — "  officers  of  the  Knights  of 
Pythias." 

"  Oh  !  " 

Le  Britta's  mouth  expanded  in  an  intelli- 
gent smile.  He  comprehended  now.  At  a 


173 

point  not  many  miles  distant  a  conclave  for 
the  State  was  to  begin  that  day.  He  had 
received  an  invitation.  More  than  that, 
friends,  brothers  of  the  order,  had  insisted 
that  he  be  present,  not  only  to  help  enjoy 
the  ceremonies  and  festivities  of  the  occasion, 
but  also  to  take  photographic  groups. 

He  had  decided  not  to  go  three  days  pre- 
vious. Business  itself  prevented.  More 
than  that,  his  interest  in  the  Vernon  case 
took  all  his  thoughts  from  participating  in 
any  event  of  gayety. 

"They  are  looking  for  you  —  went  up  to 

the  house,"  explained   Maud.     "There  they 

•  » 

are ! 

Four  jolly,  noisy  friends  burst  into  the 
studio  as  the  fair  artiste  spoke. 

"  Le  Britta  !  we've  caught  you." 

"Sir  Knight!  you  can't  escape  us." 

Hearty  greetings  followed. 

"  Get  ready.  We're  off  on  the  next  train. 
Stopped  over  for  you,"  spoke  one  of  the 
quartette. 

"  Boys,  I  can't  go,"  dissented  Le  Britta, 
seriously. 

"  Nonsense  ! " 

"You  see,  business" 


174 

"  It's  business  we  want  you  to  go  for.  We 
want  some  pictures  taken." 

"There's  a  first-class  photographer  on 
hand." 

"He  don't  know  how  to  pose  us  as  you 
do.  No  use,  Le  Britta !  No  camera  in  the 
State  can  do  such  irresponsible  fellows  as  us 
justice  except  yours." 

It  was  useless  resisting.  He  had  been  the 
soul  and  life  of  too  many  such  gatherings  to 
be  excused.  Reluctantly  he  assented,  made 
hasty  preparations  for  a  brief  stay  in  the 
neighboring  city, -and  had  a  short  consulta- 
tion with  his  friend  Doctor  Milton. 

"  I  can  go  on  from  there  to  Crossville  and 
look  up  the  missing  document,  Dick,"  he 
suggested. 

"  Just  the  thing,  Jera  !  " 

They  reached  their  destination  before 
noon.  The  city  was  given  over  to  the  genial 
knights,  and  their  majestic  uniforms  glowed 
on  every  street. 

Some  twenty  members  of  a  certain  lodge 
insisted  on  having  their  photographs  taken 
in  a  group  while  they  felt  fresh  and  had  the 
leisure,  and  arrangements  were  forthwith 
made. 


175 

Le  Britta  visited  a  photographer  whom  he 
knc\v,  and  whose  studio  was  supplied  with 
the  very  best  instruments  in  use  in  the  art. 

The  latter  felt  it  an  honor  rather  than  an 
intrusion  to  have  so  famed  a  fellow-artist  take 
his  place  at  the  camera,  and  the  operating 
room  was  soon  filled  with  the  score  of  knights 
anxious  to  have  a  taking  picture  made  in 
group. 

Le  Britta  exerted  himself  to  produce  a 
striking  effect.  The  light  was  fine,  the  cam- 
era, lenses  and  other  accessories  in  harmony 
with  the  scenic  accouterment  of  the  studio. 

Posing  a  subject  was  his  peculiar  forte,  and 
he  grouped  his  friends  with  great  care.  He 
tried  to  explain  to  one  stubborn  knight  that 
he  must  present  his  left  face  to  the  camera. 

'  Why,  the  most  striking  curl  of  my  mus- 
tache is  on  the  right,"  demurred  the  gentle- 
man in  question,  jokingly. 

"  Yes,  and  all  your  age  and  hardness  of 
expression  as  well,"  retorted  Le  Britta. 
"  Always  remember  this,  boys,  when  you 
have  your  picture  taken  —  present  the  left 
side  of  your  face.  From  long  observation  I 
have  learned  that  the  right  side  of  the  face  is 
the  ugliest.  It  is  the  false  side  of  a  man's 


176 

character,  it  shows  all  the  furrows  and  crow's- 
feet  first ;  the  right  eye  dims  earliest ;  why,  I 
can't  tell,  but  it  does,  whereas,  the  left  side 
of  the  face  is  softer,  gentler,  more  natural 
and  expressive.  Now,  then." 

"  Look  pleasant !  "  laughed  a  jolly  voice. 

"  Grin  !  "  sang  out  another  veteran. 

"  Not  at  all,"  demurred  Le  Britta.  "  Look 
natural ;  that  is  all.  Remember,  you  have  a 
mind,  and  that  upon  your  features  are  indel- 
ibly stamped  your  characteristics.  You  are 
responsible  for  these  ;  not  the  artist.  If  you 
want  the  picture  to  delineate  what  is  best  in 
you,  think  your  highest,  purest  thoughts  ; 
let  your  thoughts  dwrell  upon  what  is  joyful, 
peaceful  and  sweet  in  life." 

Le  Britta  was  careful  in  posing  his  sub- 
jects ;  he  was  equally  particular  that  the 
proper  light  should  fall  upon  each  face. 

"  Ready  !  " 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  the 
picture  was  taken.  Le  Britta  did  not  say 
"  Excellent."  He  knew  the  photograph  would 
express  that  word,  and  the  group  repeat  it 
when  they  came  to  inspect  the  same,  later  on. 

Three  other  groups  desired  to  come  under 
his  care  that  afternoon,  but  the  photographer 


177 

had  promised  to  do  some  work  that  required 
a  personal  use  of  the  camera  at  once,  and  an 
arrangement  was  made  for  the  next  morning. 

"  If  I  can  get  away  from  these  jolly  fellows, 
I  will  run  down  to  Crossville  this  afternoon," 
reflected  Le  Britta.  "  I  can  get  back  in  time 
for  the  exercises  this  evening,  for  it  is  only  a 
few  miles  distant." 

Crossville  was  the  town  that,  in  the  ordi- 
nary sequence  of  affairs,  Dr.  Richard  Milton 
decided  had  been  the  place  where  the  tramp 
had  secured  the  last  and  subsequently  oblit- 
erated strip  of  paper  bearing  on  the  secret  of 
the  hiding-place  of  Gideon  Vernon's  treasure- 
box. 

At  four  o'clock  that  afternoon,  the  photog- 
rapher managed  to  steal  away  from  his 
friends,  and  an  hour  later  he  reached  the 
little  town  of  Crossville. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
CLUE  ONE ! 


THE  reader  will  remember,  that  of  the 
three  little  strips  of  paper  found  in  the  shoe 
of  the  injured  tramp  at  Dr.  Richard  Milton's 


office,  one  had  been  disfigured  and  rendered 
undecipherable  by  dampness  penetrating  the 
sole  and  defacing  it. 

The  tramp,  when  he  left  Hawthorne  villa, 
had,  with  clever  shrewdness,  stopped  at  the 
first  town,  and  had  engaged  some  person  to 
write  the  preamble,  or  first  section  of  his 
secret. 

At  the  next  town,  a  second  portion  had 
been  chronicled  on  a  second  strip  of  paper. 

It  was  reasonable,  therefore,  for  the  doctor 
and  Le  Britta  to  theorize  that  at  the  next 
town  on  his  vagrant  route  he  completed  the 
record. 

The  next  town  being  Crossville,  hither  the 
photographer  had  come,  hoping  by  inquiry 
and  investigation  to  trace  the  person  whom 
the  tramp  had  employed  to  write  the  third 
section  or  the  balance  of  the  secret,  without 
which  only  a  blind  search  could  result  for  the 
hidden  box  of  treasure. 

There  were  about  fifty  houses  in  Cross- 
ville, a  hotel,  a  tavern,  and  the  usual  meager 
array  of  small  shops  and  stores  to  be  met 
with  in  every  humdrum,  way-back  rural  set- 
tlement. 

Le  Britta  had  a  very  fair  description  of  the 


179 

tramp  in  his  mind.  To  his  care,  also,  Doctor 
Milton  had  intrusted  the  manilla  envelope 
and  the  three  bits  of  paper  it  contained. 
Armed  with  the  blurred  strip,  presumably 
written  at  Crossville,  Le  Britta  set  out  to 
locate  its  author. 

He  first  visited  the  hotel,  then  in  turn  the 
stores,  the  shops,  and  several  private 
houses. 

Had  the  occupants  seen,  several  days 
before,  a  trampish-looking  man,  dressed  so 
and  so  ? 

No,  none  could  recall  the  individual 
inquired  about.  There  had  been  so  many 
tramps  around,  they  could  not  remember  any 
particular  one.  They  all  looked  alike,  and 
talked  alike,  Le  Britta's  informants  averred. 

Had  he,  however,  seen  the  village  con- 
stable ?  He  was  the  man  to  go  to.  Eagle- 
eyed,  inquisitive,  this  official  was  supposed 
to  welcome  the  advent  of  all  strangers,  and 
especially  keep  watch  of  those  whose  appear- 
ance was  in  the  least  degree  suspicious. 

Le  Britta  made  several  inquiries  before  he 
located  the  public  functionary  in  question. 
He  found  the  constable  seated  in  the  bar- 


i8o 

room  of  the  tavern,  smoking  a  corn-cob  pipe 
and  telling  stories. 

Le  Britta  could  stand  the  pungent  odor  of 
chemicals,  but  liquor  made  him  shudder  with 
repugnance.  He  managed  to  lure  the  con- 
stable away  from  the  distasteful  proximity  of 
the  fiery  compounds,  that  treat  a  -man's  stom- 
ach with  about  as  much  courtesy  as  an  acid 
bath  does  an  undeveloped  plate,  making 
finally  the  proboscis  a  true  ruby-light,  and 
the  mental  condition  of  the  unfortunate,  when 
his  last  dollar  is  gone,  much  to  resemble  a 
blue-print ! 

"I  am  looking  for  some  trace  of  a  tramp 
who  passed  through  Crossville  about  a  week 
ago,"  announced  Le  Britta,  as  a  preface. 

"A  tramp  ?  "  and  the  constable  pricked  up 
his  ears,  and  looked  wise  and  swelled  out 
grandiloquently.  "Ah!  a  tramp?  Just  so." 

"  Dressed  "  —  and  the  photographer  gave 
an  accurate  description  of  Dave  Wharton. 

"  Seems  to  me  I  remember  him." 

"He  wore  an  old,  faded  army  cap." 

"  Ah  !  I've  got  him  !  "  ejaculated  the  officer. 

"  Sure  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  ordered  him  to  leave  the  place  ; 
I  even  went  with  him  to  the  limits." 


"And  he  asked  you  to  do  a  bit  of  writing 
for  him  ? " 

The  constable  started  violently. 

"  PJello  !  how  did  you  know  that  ?  "  he  ejac- 
ulated. 

"  Didn't  you  ?  "  persisted  Le  Britta. 

"I  did,  for  a  fact." 

"  Was  that  part  of  what  you  wrote  ?  " 

Le  Britta  exhibited  the  half-obliterated 
writing  from  the  tramp's  manilla  envelope. 

The  constable  examined  it. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  "that's  it." 

"  You  see  it  is  almost  erased  ?" 

•'Yes,  I  see  it  is." 

"  Can  you  remember  what  it  was  you 
wrote  ?  " 

The  constable  reflected  deeply. 

"  I  can't  remember  the  exact  words,"  he 
stated,  finally. 

"  But  the  substance  ?" 

"  Yes,  something  about  a  big,  flat  rock." 

"A  big,  flat  rock." 

"  And  then,  a  path  leading  down  past  some 
wild-grape  vines." 

"  Proceed,  please." 

"And  between  two  spurs  of  stone,  a  small 
spring.  That's  all." 


182 

"Sure?" 

"Yes." 

Le  Britta  thanked  the  man.  His  informa- 
tion had  been  concise  and  satisfactory.  He 
explained  that  the  tramp  had  got  hurt,  and 
that  he  was  looking  up  a  memorandum  he 
had  made,  of  considerable  importance  to  him- 
self and  others. 

"  Then  he  returned  to  the  city,  feeling  that 
he  had  scored  a  material  point  in  the  case  in 
hand.  From  the  description  given,  he  was 
sure  that  he  could  find  the  hidden  treasure- 
box. 

A  pleasant  time  he  passed  with  the  knights 
that  evening,  and  the  next  morning,  with 
quite  a  party  of  them,  he  repaired  to  the  pho- 
tographer's, to  take  their  pictures. 

"I  can  only  give  you  an  hour,"  explained 
the  latter  to  Le  Britta.  '  There  is  a  dra- 
matic company  just  leaving  town,  and  they 
are  coming  to  have  some  photographs  taken," 

"  An  hour  will  be  ample  time,"  responded 
Le  Britta,  and  it  was,  for  he  got  through  with 
his  friends,  and  left  orders  with  the  photog- 
rapher as  to  the  disposition  of  the  pictures 
upon  completion,  just  as  several  ladies  en- 
tered the  waiting-room. 


Preparing  the  negatives  consumed  some 
(ittle  time,  but  at  last  Le  Britta  came  out  into 
the  operating  room. 

"Well,  good-by,"  he  said.  "Ah!  excuse 
me,  I  thought  you  were  alone." 

The  photographer  was  behind  his  camera, 
and  seated  near  a  screen  was  a  veiled  lady, 
evidently  a  member  of  the  dramatic  troupe  he 
had  referred  to. 

"  Lift  your  veil,  please,"  he  said  to  the  lat- 
ter. "  I  am  all  ready." 

The  lady  obeyed  him. 

"  Mercy !  "    ejaculated    the    petrified    Le 
Britta,  starting  back  half-a-dozen  feet  in  sheer' 
surprise  and  bewilderment. 

Staring  blankly  at  the  fair  features  revealed, 
he  stood  like  one  in  a.  trance. 

The  lady  at  that  moment  happened  to  gaze 
at  him. 

With  a  violent  start,  she  turned  pale  as 
death,  and  arose  to  her  feet  as  she  evidently 
recognized  him. 

Then,  with  a  wild  cry,  she  reeled  where 
she  stood,  and  fell  senseless  to  the  floor. 


1 84 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

CHECKMATE. 

THE  new  master  of  Hawthorne  villa  had 
got  up  late.  Moreover,  he  had  arisen  with  a 
headache,  the  result  of  too  free  indulgence  in 
strong  drink  the  previous  night. 

The  mask  of  even  ordinary  civility  was 
down  now.  Alone,  unwatched,  the  lax  mus- 
cles of  his  face,  the  ugly,  malignant  glare  of 
his  sinister  eyes  proclaimed  Ralph  Durand  to 
be  a  very  bad  and  a  very  dangerous  man. 

He  kicked  over  a  pretty  ottoman,  the 
handiwork  of  gentle  Gladys  Vernon ;  he 
smashed  a  daintly  perfume  case  in  his  impa- 
tience at  a  wry  collar,  and  then,  half-dressed, 
hurried  to  the  dining-room  to  brace  his  shat- 
tered nerves  with  frequent  potations  of  his 
favorite  liquor  —  rum. 

"  There  !  I  feel  like  a  man  again,"  he  mut- 
tered, complacently,  as  the  strong  drink 
flushed  his  face  and  tingled  in  his  blood. 
"  I'm  going  it  a  little  too  strong,  though. 
Durand,  old  boy !  this  won't  do  !  The 
master  of  a  fortune  and  a  rare  old  establish- 
ment, like  Hawthorne  villa,  must  go  slow, 


1*5 

respectable-like.  Just  now,  pure  dash  and 
defiance  have  made  every  one  in  sight  take 
to  flight  or  concealment,  but  they  may  mass 
their  forces  anew.  Yes,  I  need  to  be  wary, 
vigilant,  indomitable.  If  I  drink  too  much  I 
may  get  careless,  I  may  be  taken  unawares. 
I  must  have  a  cool  head,  iron  nerves,  a  never- 
sleeping  eye.  No  more  drink  in  excess,  old 
boy!  until  I  perfect  my  plans." 

Restored  to  good  humor,  Ralph  Durand 
called  the  villainous-looking  fellow  he  had 
appointed  steward,  gave  his  orders  for  the 
day,  ate  an  ample  breakfast,  and,  arraying 
himself  in  the  loudest  suit  he  possessed, 
started  to  walk  toward  the  distant  village. 

"I'll  wake  them  up — I'll  bring  that  old 
fogy  of  a  family  lawyer  to  his  senses  !  "  he 
muttered.  "  No  time  like  now.  Gladys  has 
been  scared  away  —  I  know  how  to  bring  her 
back.  She  must  come  back  !  Her  return  is 
essential  to  my  plots.  First,  there  are  cer- 
tain little  legal  formalities  that  vest  a  thor- 
ough right  in  me  for  handling  the  estate  thai- 
she  must  tacitly  sanction  ;  next,  if  I  see  the 
fortune  slipping  from  my  hands,  I  must  pro- 
ceed to  extreme  measues.  She  might  make 
a  will  and  die,  leaving  me  sole  heir.  She 


1 86 

might  marry  —  me  !  What  an  idea !  but,  as 
I  hold  her  in  mortal  terror,  why  not  ?  With 
the  proofs  to  send  her  lover,  Sydney  Vance, 
to  the  gallows,  with  evidence  that  I  control 
his  liberty,  she  is  a  pliable  tool  in  my  subtle 
hands.  Ah  !  I'  plot  wisely,  I  execute  well." 

The  cold-blooded  schemer  chuckled  se- 
renely. He  cut  savagely  at  the  pretty  flow- 
ers by  the  roadside  as  he  strolled  along.  He 
hated  beauty  —  he  despised  nature.  It  had 
no  charms  for  him.  As  he  mutilated  the 
glowing  buds,  so  would  he  cruelly  crush 
every  foe  to  his  interest  who  dared  to  cross 
his  path. 

"As  to  that  meddling  photographer,  he 
won't  appear  again  in  a  hurry,"  continued 
Durand.  "  I  checked  his  mad  career  sum- 
marily. I  obliterated  the  last  tangible  clue, 
in  sight,  to  my  rascality,  as  he  terms  it,  my 
shrewdness,  I  say  —  the  glass  negative. 
Master  of  the  situation  complete,  I  propose 
to  bring  affairs  to  a  climax,  money  matters  to 
a  basis.  I  intend  to  begin  lining  my  nest 
from  the  proceeds  of  the  estate,  lest  misad- 
venture overcomes  me,  and  turns  me  oiit  of 
my  position  as  censor  of  Gladys  Vernon's  fate 
and  the  Vernon  fortune." 


Durand  proceeded  straight  to  the  office  of 
the  lawyer  the  minute  he  reached  the  vil- 
lage. 

"  Mr.  Munson  in  ?  "  he  demanded,  famil- 
iarly, of  the  boy  in  the  outer  office. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Busy  ?  " 

"Writing  a  letter,  yes,  sir.  Does  not 
wish  to  be  disturbed." 

"  He'll  see  me  /"  interrupted  Durand,  inso- 
lently. "  Tell  him  Mr.  Durand  is  here." 

"  Mr.  Durand  ?  yes  sir,"  replied  the  inex- 
perienced youth,  overawed  by  Mr.  Ralph 
Durand's  imperious  manner,  and  the  glitter 
of  his  great  diamond  pin. 

"  He'll  see  you,  sir,"  he  announced,  reap- 
pearing in  a  few  minutes. 

"Thought  he  would !  How  are  you, 
Munson  ?" 

Durand  flung  himself  into  an  easy-chair  as 
he  entered  the  private  office. 

The  lawyer  nodded  curtly.  His  drawn 
brows  told  how  he  disliked  his  visitor. 

"Not  over  glad  to  see  me,  are  you?" 
laughed  Durand,  viciously.  "  Can't  be 
helped,  though.  Come  to  see  you  on  busi- 
ness." 


i88 

"Ah  !  on  business  ?  "  repeated  the  lawyer, 
his  lips  grim  and  set. 

"  Exactly." 

"About" 

"  The  Vernon  estate." 

"  Proceed." 

"  I  am  executor." 

"  You  seem  to  be." 

"  Much  against  your  liking !  However, 
you  won't  dispute  my  claim.  What  I  want 
to  know  is,  how  affairs  stand.  I  am  exec- 
utor—  I  want  something  to  execute  !  " 

Ralph  Durand  chuckled  diabolically  at  his 
horrible  pleasantry.  The  lawyer  looked  dis- 
gusted. 

"In  other  words,"  he  said,  "you  wish  to 
assume  your  trust  ?  " 

"At  once." 

"And  take  charge  of  the  estate." 

"The  ticket,  exactly!" 

Mr.  Munson  took  down  a  portfolio. 

It  was  marked  on  the  outside,  "Estate  of 
Gideon  Vernon  —  Private." 

He  opened  it,  and  drew  forth  some  papers. 

"  Mr.  Vernon's  last  memoranda  of  his  pos- 
sessions, real  and  personal,"  he  announced. 


1 89 

"Very  good,  go  on!"  cried  Durand,  with 
sparkling,  avaricious  eyes. 

'  To  summarize,  there  is  the  villa" 

"  Worth  ?"- 

'  With  furniture  and  belongings,  say,, 
twenty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Quite  a  plum  !  " 

"  Next,  the  mines  at  Leeville  " 

"Valued?" 

"At  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand. 
He  was  offered  that  once." 

"Better  still !  next!  " 

"  Real  estate  in  St.  Louis,  unimproved 
boulevard  lots" 

"Would  bring?" 

"  At  least  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"  It's  piling  up  ! "  gloated  the  delighted 
plotter.  "  I  want  it  all  turned  over  to  me. 
As  trustee,  I  do  as  I  please  with  it — invest 
it,  speculate,  bank  or  devote  to  improve- 
ments." 

"  Unfortunately,  under  the  very  lax  condi- 
tions of  the  will,  you  may." 

"  Never  mind  that.  Now  then,  old  Ver- 
non  of  course  left  lots  of  ready  cash  securities, 
bonds,  jewels  and  the  like  ?  " 

"  He  had  such,  yes,  before  he  died.     I  see 


190 

on  this  memoranda,  that  the  day  before  his 
death,  he  listed  his  personal  belongings  at  a 
clear  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

Ralph  Durand's  eyes  fairly  blazed  with 
covetousness.  To  handle  all  that  in  ready 
cash  !  His  finger  ends  tingled. 

"Now,  then,"  he  cried,  excitedly,  "when 
can  you  turn  all  this  property  over  to  me  ?  " 

"At  any  moment." 

"  Do  it  now  !  " 

"On  an  order  from  the  court." 

Durand's  face  fell,  but  he  said,  a  moment 
later  : 

"  That's  all  right.  I  can  get  the  order  this 
morning  —  soon  as  court  opens.". 

"  Very  well." 

"You'll  have  the  property  in  shape  ?" 

"  Yes,  what  there  is  of  it  ?  " 

Ralph  Durand  started.  There  was  a 
strange  intonation  in  the  lawyer's  voice,  a 
peculiar  expression  of  latent  triumph  and. 
vindictiveness  in  his  face. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  remarked 
Durand. 

"I  mean  what  I  say." 

"The  deeds  for  the  real  estate  are  in  your 
hands." 


"  Yes." 

"  That  settles  that  part  of  it,  then.  Now, 
then,  as  to  the  hundred  thousand  dollars  in 
ready  money  —  I  get  of  that " 

"  Not  one  cent  f  " 

Mr.  Munson  uttered  the  words  with  a 
thrill  of  grim  satisfaction. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Durand,  starting  sus- 
piciously, alarmed  at  the  lawyer's  triumph- 
ant, satisfied  manner,  "  you  say" 

"  Not  one  cent,  Mr.  Ralph  Durand !  I 
must  acknowledge  you  as  the  executor  of  the 
estate  of  Gideon  Vernon,  but  I  fear  you  will 
not  welcome  the  trust." 

"  Will  not  welcome  it  ?  "  gasped  the  start - 
'ed  plotter,  realizing  some  latent  defeat,  dis- 
aster, in  the  lawyer's  sphynx-like  face. 

11  No/' 

"And  why  not?" 

"  Because,"  replied  the  lawyer,  impress- 
ively, "the  estate  of  Gideon  Vernon  is  a 
complete  wreck  !" 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A    MYSTERY. 

RALPH  DURAND  looked  much  like  an  eager 
fox-hunter  suddenly  checked  in  his  mad 
career  of  further  progress,  by  an  insurmount- 
able barrier,  with  a  shock. 

"The  estate  a  wreck  !  "  he  gasped,  falter- 
ingly. 

His  were  the  white  face,  the  trembling  lip, 
the  dismayed  eyes,  now. 

The  lawyer  locked  his  hands,  placidly. 
However  much  he  might  deplore  disaster  to 
the  Vernon  interests,  he  seemed  to  fairly 
delight  in  the  discomfiture  and  chagrin  of  his 
unwelcome  client. 

"Exactly,"  he  murmured. 

"I  don't  believe  it!" 

Durand  flared  out  like  a  spitting  volcano. 
He  stormed,  raved,  threatened.  The  lawyer 
calmly  awaited  his  quieting  down. 

"We  return  to  facts,"  he  spoke,  with  pro- 
voking coolness.  "The  estate  is  a  wreck. 
Instead  of  your  becoming  the  free  and  easy 
dispenser  of  thousands,  you  come  into  con- 
trol of  a  shattered,  almost  worthless,  estate." 


193 

"I  don't  believe  it  !  "  choked  out  Durand, 
white  with  rage  and  disappointment. 

•'  The  records  will  bear  me  out." 

"Trickery  —  fraud!  A  scheme  to  defeat 
me  ! " 

"Take  care,"  warned  the  lawyer,  a  dan- 
gerous look  in  his  stern  eyes,  "how  you  ac- 
cuse me.  I  know  how  to  seek  redress." 

Durand  cooled  down,  but  his  whole  frame 
quivered  with  latent  emotion. 

"Go  on!"  he  panted.  'Explain  your 
claims." 

"Claims!"  iterated  Mr.  Munson ;  "they 
are  simple  facts.  The  exact  status  of  the 
case  is  I  state." 

"  But  old  Vernon,  a  wealthy  man,  possessed 
of  an  enormous  estate,  as  his  memoranda 
shows  !" 

"  I  will  explain.  Mr.  Vernon  did  own  all 
the  real  estate  listed,  but  I  find  that  one  week 
ago,  unknown  to  me,  he  executed  a  mortgage 
on  the  entire  property,  the  villa  included." 

"A  mortgage  ?  " 

'  Yes.     It  was  made  to  a  firm  in  the  city.' 

"  But  the  ready  money  you  refer  to  ?" 

"That  was  it." 


104 

"What  was  it?"  queried  the  puzzled 
Durand. 

"The  mortgage  money.  I  have  investi- 
gated. He  positively  made  the  mortgage. 
The  records  show  it.  He  certainly  received 
the  money.  The  canceled  check  proves  it. 
He  converted  it  into  cash.  In  other  words, 
he  loaded  down  the  estate  with  a  mortgage 
for  fully  half  its  value.  Its  income  will  not 
even  pay  the  interest." 

"Why?" 

"  Do  you  want  a  truthful  reason  ?  ' 

"  Yes." 

"To  provide  against  the  very  contingency 
that  has  occurred  —  to  so  cripple  the  estate 
temporarily,  that  whoever  became  executor, 
would  have  to  work  for  his  salary,  keeping 
the  estate  in  order,  instead  of  pilfering  from 

',     » 
It. 

Durand  bit  his  lips  with  supressed  rage  at 
the  lawyer's  candor. 

"But  the  money?" 

"What  money?" 

"  The  mortgage  proceeds." 

"  That,"  announced  Mr.  Munson,  grimly, 
"has  disappeared." 

"Disappeared  !" 


195 

"Exactly." 

"  You  say  he  received  it  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"Did  he  not  bank  it?" 

"No." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  have  inquired  ?  " 

"  Then  he  hid  it." 

"  I  do  not  know." 

Ralph  Durand  sat  a  picture  of  consterna- 
tion, suspicion  and  chagrin. 

All  his  fond  air-castles  had  been  shattered 
at  one  fell,  unexpected  blow. 

Instead  of  being  able  to  handle  a  royal 
fortune  at  will,  he  would  do  well  if  he  got  the 
barest  living  out  of  his  guardianship  during 
its  term  of  existence. 

The  hundred  thousand  dollars  had  disap- 
peared. There  was  no  doubt  but  that  Gideon 
Vernon  had  received  the  amount.  There 
was  no  doubt  but  that  the  lawyer  spoke  the 
truth  when  he  said  that  he  did  not  know 
what  had  become  of  it. 

Durand  left  the  office  a  depressed,  enraged 
man  —  a  baffled  schemer. 

In  death,  old  Gideon  Vernon's  cleverness 


196 

had  baffled  him  more  than  his  defiance  when 
alive. 

What  had  Vernon  done  with  the  money  ? 
Ah  !  a  thought  came  to  Durand's  mind  with 
the  intensity  of  a  shock.  Had  Gladys  re- 
ceived it? 

He  did  not  know,  but  he  would  know. 
That  very  day  the  newspapers  that  had 
published  the  initial  advertisement  that  Dr. 
Richard  Milton  had  shown  to  Jera  Le  Britta, 
received  orders  to  continue  it  indefinitely. 

And  that  evening,  as  Durand  took  a  rusted 
key  from  his  pocket  and  made  his  way  down 
the  river  shore,  bent  evidently  upon  some 
mysterious  mission,  he  muttered,  hopefully: 

"  The  advertisement  will  bring  her  back. 
She  will  come  if  she  thinks  her  lover  is  in 
danger.  Then  for  the  truth.  Gladys  Vernon 
certainly  knows  what  has  become  of  that 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  I  —  I  must 
find  it — I  must,  I  will  possess  it !  " 


197 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

FOUND    AND    LOST. 

JERA  LE  BRITTA  had  faced  some  startling 
surprises  in  his  eventful  career,  but  the  scene 
that  greeted  his  senses  in  the  studio  where 
he  had  been  engaged  in  photographing  his 
fellow-knights,  fairly  electrified  him. 

One  glance  at  the  lady  in  the  chair,  one 
penetrating,  half-frightened  look  in  return, 
and,  as  has  been  said,  the  woman  sank  faint- 
ing to  the  floor. 

It  was  the  photographer,  and  not  Le  Britta, 
who  sprang  to  her  rescue.  The  latter  was 
too  overcome  to  act  for  the  moment.  Over- 
whelmed, he  stared  fixedly  at  the  white, 
beautiful  face  of  the  fair  creature,  who  had 
gone  down  under  some  severe  mental  shock. 

Then  his  surprised  lips  framed  a  single 
word  — 

"  Gladys  !  " 

Yes,  it  was  she,  Gladys  Vernon,  the  heiress 
of  Hawthorne  villa,  the  refugee  —  victim  of 
Ralph  Durand's  cruel  power  ;  the  heart- 
broken fiancee  of  Sydney  Vance ! 

How  had  she  come  here  ?     What  fate  had 


198 

sent  her  across  the  path  of  the  man  who  had 
sought  her  so  vainly,  face  to  face,  at  a  crit- 
ical moment  in  the  destiny  of  all  concerned  in 
the  strange  case,  where  villainy  and  avarice 
were  waging  a  merciless  battle  against  inno- 
cence and  right  ? 

Before  Le  Britta  had  fully  regained  his 
wits,  the  photographer  had  summoned  a  lady 
assistant.  The  insensible  girl  was  removed 
to  an  inner  apartment,  the  excited  and  breath- 
less Le  Britta  sank  to  a  chair. 

He  could  only  wait.  The  photographer, 
immersed  in  business,  had  ordered  his  assist- 
ant to  do  all  in  her  power  to  resuscitate  the 
insensible  girl.  From  the  waiting-room  two 
other  ladies  had  also  gone  to  the  aid  of 
Gladys,  and  from  excited,  disjointed  bits  of 
conversation,  Le  Britta  comprehended  that 
Gladys  Vernon  was  a  new  subordinate  mem- 
ber of  the  dramatic  company  which  was  being 
photographed,  and  to  which  his  friend  had 
previously  referred. 

"  I  see  it  all,"  he  murmured.  "  She  fled 
from  home  —  she  sought  to  earn  her  own 
living.  She  hoped  to  put  to  account  her 
rare  elocutionary  powers  in  the  dramatic  line, 
she  hoped,  doubtless,  under  a  new  guise,  an 


199 

assumed  name,  to  hide  her  identity  ;  "  and  as 
Le  Britta  learned  that  the  company  was  on 
its  way  to  California,  he  discerned  that 
Gladys'  determination  to  hide  herself  was  a 
fixed  one. 

"She  ventured  to  remain  somewhere  near 
to  Hawthorne  villa  disguised  on  the  stage, 
veiled  on  the  street.  She  probably  reluct- 
antly consented  to  have  her  picture  taken, 
because  she  could  not  very  well  evade  it. 
She  saw  me.  The  shock  of  recognition 
overcame  her,  and  she  fainted  away.  Thank 
heaven  I  have  found  her,  though,"  ruminated 
Le  Britta.  "  I  will  save  her  from  a  life  of 
drudgery  and  loneliness,  she  shall  come 
under  my  wife's  gentle  ministrations  until  it 
is  safe  for  her  to  reappear  to  her  friends - 
she  shall  hear  all  I  have  to  tell.  I  will  win 
her  to  realize  the  folly  of  flight,  I  will  protect, 
advise  her  as  a  friend,  a  brother." 

Half  an  hour  went  by.  Le  Britta  began 
to  grow  impatient.  The  photographer  was 
too  occupied  to  talk  with  him.  At  last,  Le 
Britta  advanced  to  the  door  of  the  room  into 
which  Gladys  Vernon  had  been  carried. 

He  tapped  lightly.  No  reply.  He  pressed 
the  knob.  The  room  beyond  was  untenanted. 


200 

Startled,  he  entered  it.  A  door  at  its 
other  end  stood  open.  At  its  threshold  the 
assistant  confronted  him. 

"The  girl — the  young  lady  who  was 
here  ?  "  spoke  Le  Britta,  hurriedly. 

"  Which  one  ?  " 

"The  lady  who  fainted." 

"  She  is  gone." 

"  Gone ! " 

"  Yes." 

"When— where?" 

"  Fully  twenty  minutes  since.  She  recov- 
ered, begged  of  her  friends  to  get  her  away 
from  here,  and  —  they  went. 

"  What  way  ?  To  the  street,  while  I  sat 
dumbly  waiting!  "  exclaimed  Le  Britta,  con- 
cernedly. "  She  wishes  to  evade  me  ;  she  is 
determined  that  she  will  not  see  her  friends. 
Poor  child  !  Amid  her  terror  and  uncertainty, 
she  flies  from  those  who  have  her  interests  at 
heart.  But  I  must  find  her,  and  at  once  !  " 

"Easily  said  —  difficult  of  execution!  It 
took  Jera  Le  Britta  an  hour  to  find  out  at 
which  of  the  crowded  hotels  the  dramatic 
company  was  stopping. 

He  learned  that  it  had  disbanded  tempora- 


201 

rily,  to  reorganize  in  San  Francisco  in  two 
weeks. 

Departing  in  sections,  by  different  routes, 
for  different  cities  of  visitation,  ere  the  jour- 
ney began,  he  was  utterly  at  a  loss  to  trace 
Gladys  and  her  new-found  friends.  Special 
trains  were  being  run  for  the  day  to  the  con- 
clave, and  the  railroad  officials  were  busy, 
confused  and  unsatisfactory  in  their  answers 
to  his  anxious  queries. 

"  It  is  useless  to  follow  the  many  blind 
trails  suggested,"  he  decided.  "  If  I  found 
her,  would  she  consent  to  abandon  her  evi- 
dent determination  to  remain  away  from 
home  while  that  villain,  Durand,  is  in  power  ? 
To  San  Francisco  she  is  surely  gone.  There 
she  can  be  found  later.  It  would  take  half- 
a-dozen  detectives  to  hunt  her  up  just  now. 
I  am  worried,  but  she  is  comparatively  safe. 
I  have  no  right  to  control  her  movements.  I 
will  work  at  the  case  until  I  get  a  clear  deck 
for  action  — until  she  can  safely  return  ;  then 
she  will  not  refuse. 

Thus  Le  Britta  tried  to  decide,  but  an 
hour  later  his  anxiety  for  Gladys  Vernon 
overcame  his  former  judgment.  Inquiry  had 
given  him  a  new  clue.  He  had  met  the 


202 

manager  of  the  dramatic  company.  By 
describing  Gladys'  two  lady  companions 
at  the  photograph  studio,  he  was  enabled  to 
learn  that  they  were  the  soubrette  and  the 
leading  lady  of  the  company. 

''They  started  for  St.  Louis  an  hour  ago," 
spoke  the  manager.  "  Is  it  something  im- 
portant." 

"  Yes.  I  have  a  very  vital  message  for  the 
lady  who  is  with  them." 

11  Oh  !  Miss  Raven  ?  the  new  lady  who  has 
engaged  to  play  some  minor  parts." 

That  meant  Gladys,  and  Le  Britta  nodded 
affirmatively. 

"  I  don't  think  she  went  with  them  to 
St.  Louis.  I  am  quite  certain  not." 

"Can  you  find  out?"  asked  Le  Britta, 
anxiously. 

"  Yes.     Come  back  in  two  hours." 

In  two  hours  Le  Britta  returned. 

The  manager  had  word  for  him. 

"  I  telegraphed  to  the  leading  lady  on  the 
train — had  a  dispatch  sent  and  delivered  at 
a  junction,"  he  explained. 

"And  her  reply?" 

"  Here  it  is.    You  can  read  it  for  yourself." 


203 

Le  Britta  surveyed  the  reply  message  at- 
tentively and  with  expectation. 

It  blighted  his  hopes,  and  made  the  where- 
abouts of  Gladys  Vernon  more  a  matter  of 
doubt  than  ever. 

For  it  read : 

"  Miss  Raven  did  not  leave  city  with  us. 
She  stated  that  she  would  leave  company 
and  return  to  her  home." 

"Return  to  her  home?"  repeated  the 
mystified  Le  Britta.  "That  cannot  be  —  she 
would  not  do  that  —  where  can  she  have 
gone  ? " 

The  long  day  through  he  sought  for 
Gladys  Vernon,  but  did  not  find  her.  Even- 
tide brought  no  solution  to  the  mystery  of 
her  whereabouts,  and  that  evening  Jera  Le 
Britta  appeared  at  the  hotel  that  was  the 
headquarters  of  his  friends,  with  a  weaned 
and  a  heavy  heart. 

He  had  dismissed  the  thought  of  person- 
ally tracing  down  Gladys  Vernon  for  the 
present,  and  had  gone  to  a  local  detective 
agency  late  in  the  afternoon. 

Le  Britta  had  no  idea  of  mixing  up  the 
police  with  a  case  where  secrecy  and  family 
respectability  were  important  elements,  and 


2O4 

he  had  so  informed  the  officer  who  was  de- 
tailed to  consult  with  him. 

"I  come  to  you  on  a  complicated  case," 
Le  Britta  had  said,  "but  I  ask  you  only  to 
consider  one  phase  of  it.  A  young  lady  has 
disappeared.  I  wish  to  learn  where  she  has 
gone  —  how  and  when  she  left  the  city." 

Le  Britta  therewith  detailed  the  connec- 
tion of  Gladys  Vernon  with  the  dramatic 
company,  and  gave  a  description  of  her. 

He  told  the  officer  where  he  would  be 
found  until  the  following  morning,  and  then 
made  his  way  to  the  hotel. 

His  friends  greeted  him  with  reproaches 
for  his  neglect  of  them,  but  good-naturedly, 
and  soon  the  influence  of  friendly  banter  and 
jovial  companionship  dispelled  the  clouds  of 
anxiety  that  oppressed  Le  Britta's  mind. 

For  the  time  being,  engaged  in  discussions 
of  art  and  of  conclave  matters,  he  forgot 
Gladys  Vernon.  He  was  the  enthusiastic 
artist  once  more,  in  love  with  his  profession, 
and  ably  defending  his  theories  in  regard  to 
the  best  lines  followed  in  producing  and  per- 
fecting pictures,  as  he  talked  with  several  fel- 
low-members of  his  craft. 

Quite  a  coterie  had  gathered  about  him  in 


205 

the  lobby  of  the  hotel,  as  he  became  engaged 
in  an  interesting  argument  regarding  sensi- 
tive printing.  Then  lodge  matters  super- 
vened, and  the  evening  drifted  away,  indus- 
triously and  satisfactorily  spent. 

Le  Britta  had  gone  to  his  room,  and  was 
about  to  retire  for  the  night,  when  there  was 
a  tap  on  the  door. 

He  answered  the  summons,  to  find  one  of 
the  servants  of  the  hotel  in  waiting,  with  a 
card. 

"Richard  Dunbar,"  he  read,  and  he  re- 
membered that  to  be  the  name  of  the  detect- 
ive he  had  engaged. 

Le  Britta  hurried  below.  He  found  the 
brisk,  business-like  officer  awaiting  him. 

"  You  have  something  to  report  ?  "  queried 
Le  Britta,  anxiously. 

"Yes." 

"You  have  found  a  clue?" 

"We  have  accomplished  what  you  wished. 
We  have  traced  the  girl." 

"And  found  her?" 

"No.  Our  labors  end  with  learning  how 
she  left  the  city  —  where  she  went." 

"Yes,  I  understand  that." 

"  Miss  Raven,  as  you  call  her,  after  leav- 


2O6 

ing  the  photographer's  studio,  returned  to 
the  Palace  hotel." 

"Where  the  dramatic  company  was  stay- 
ing  ?  " 

"Exactly." 

"And  then?" 

"  She  took  her  satchel  and  hurried  to  the 
railroad  depot." 

"Which  one?" 

"  The  Central  line.  She  purchased  a 
ticket;"  and  in  a  few  concise  words  the  detec- 
tive developed  the  fact  that  she  had  secured 
transportation  for  the  station  nearest  to 
Hawthorne  villa. 

Le  Britta  could  scarcely  credit  the  infor- 
mation. Gladys  gone  home;  Gladys  re- 
turned to  Hawthorne  villa ! 

Why,  if  that  was  her  destination,  a  deci- 
sion undoubtedly  forced  by  Le  Britta's 
recognition  of  her,  had  she  fled  from  him  ? 

With  all  her  dread  of  Ralph  Durand,  why 
should  she  return  to  the  place  where  he 
would  at  once  enforce  his  power  of  guardian- 
ship ? 

"  I  cannot  understand  it,"  murmured  Le 
Britta,  as  he  paid  the  detective  and  walked 


207 

out  thoughtfully  upon  the  street.  "There  is 
some  mystery  here." 

He  tried  to  analyze  the  motives  that  would 
actuate  Gladys  in  a  resolve  to  abandon  her 
dramatic  career,  and  go  back  to  face  the  fate 
from  which  she  had  so  recently  fled. 

For  over  an  hour  he  reflected  seriously 
over  the  case.  He  could  not  get  it  out  of  his 
mind. 

More  than  once  he  told  himself  that  he 
was  exceeding  his  duty  to  himself  and  others 
in  assuming  so  much  anxiety  and  trouble  for 
a  comparative  stranger,  but  his  better  nature 
discarded  the  suggestion,  and  he  resolved  to 
figure  out  the  difficult  problem,  to  find 
Gladys  Vernon  if  possible. 

Was  it  not  probable  that,  fearing  she  would 
be  followed  by  Le  Britta,  Gladys  had  pur- 
chased the  ticket  for  home  to  throw  him  off 
the  trail  ? 

Scarcely.  Her  candid  ingenuous  nature 
was  too  guileless  for  that. 

"The  case  is  certainly  arriving  at  a  critical 
climax,"  soliquized  Le  Britta.  "  There  must 
soon  be  some  developments.  The  tramp  in 
charge  of  Doctor  Milton,  the  secret  regarding 
the  treasure  in  the  ravine  —  these  are  formid- 


208 

able  interests  in  the  affair,  but  this  girl,  a 
refugee,  homeless,  affrighted  —  oh  !  I  wish  I 
could  find  her,  to  explain  that  friends  are  act- 
ing in  her  behalf,  that  her  absence  compli- 
cates the  matter,  and  places  us  at  a  disad- 
vantage. Mercy !  that  is  the  key  to  the 
enigma." 

Le  Britta  started  violently.  Of  a  sudden 
a  quick  suggestion  had  come  to  his  mind. 
In  a  flash  he  discerned  the  truth. 

"  Why ! "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  gasp  of 
comprehension,  "  I  never  thought  of  it ! 
Gladys  Vernon  has  returned  home  —  she 
saw  Ralph  Durand's  advertisement. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BLOCKED. 

THE  next  train  on  the  Central  left  in  two 
hours.  Le  Britta's  decision  had  been  quickly 
suggested  and  formed  —  he  would  go  to 
Hawthorne  villa. 

There  he  was  certain  he  would  find  Gladys 
Vernon.  Thither  he  was  positive  the  home- 
less orphan  had  returned. 

When  Gladys  had  fled  from  her  home,  she 


209 

believed  her  lover,  Sydney  Vance,  to  be  a 
fugitive.  The  advertisement  inserted  in  the 
newspapers  by  Ralph  Durand  proved  that  he 
was  in  the  power  of  that  villainous  plotter,  at 
least  that  Durand  knew  of  his  whereabouts. 

That  carefully-worded  initial  advertise- 
ment contained  a  terrible  threat  for  the 
frantic  fugitive.  If  she  would  save  her 
lover's  life,  she  had  better  return  at  once  to 
Hawthorne  villa,  it  suggested. 

What  more  natural,  therefore,  than  that 
she  had  so  decided  to  do.  Unequal  to  a 
strife  where  villainy  held  the  whip-hand, 
Gladys  had  heart  brokenly  abandoned  the 
contest.  Before  Le  Britta  could  reach  Haw- 
thorne villa  to  intercept  her,  to  warn  her,  she 
would  have  placed  herself  under  the  baleful 
power  of  the  miscreant,  Ralph  Durand ! 

Le  Britta  took  the  train  with  an  oppressed 
heart.  Some  how,  he  felt  that  he  was  going 
to  meet  disaster,  that,  armed  with  some 
power  not  yet  fully  developed,  Durand  would 
drive  him  from  the  field  completely  at  their 
next  interview.  He  had  started  on  a  quest, 
however,  and  he  would  not  abandon  it,  and 
he  settled  himself  down  in  a  seat  to  reflect, 
to  formulate  his  plan  of  proceedure  if  he 


2IO 

found  Gladys  an  inmate  of  the  villa,  when  a 
hand  slapped  him  familiarly  on  the  shoulder. 

"Hello,  Le  Britta  !  "  spoke  a  bluff,  hearty 
voice,  and  its  owner  pressed  into  the  seat 
without  ceremony. 

It  proved  to  be  one  of  the  visitors  to  the 
conclave,  who,  like  Le  Britta,  was  a  photog- 
rapher. They  had  met  that  day,  and  some 
moments  were  consumed  in  mutually  explain- 
ing how  neither  intended  remaining  for  the 
last  day's  exercises. 

Le  Britta  did  not  feel  much  like  talking, 
but  his  companion  was  not  to  be  rebuffed. 
He  was  a  photographer  of  the  old  school,  and 
while  he  was  forced  to  acknowledge  Le 
Britta's  superior  genius  from  the  results  it 
had  manifestly  attained,  they  never  met  but  he 
forced  a  heated  and  lengthy  discussion  as  to 
the  merits  and  demerits  of  their  respective 
systems. 

"  Well,  Le  Britta,"  spoke  the  man,  as  they 
drifted  into  their  usual  theme  of  discussion, 
"  you  still  hold  to  your  old  idea  that  photog- 
raphy is  an  art  ?  " 

"You  know  me  too  well  to  doubt  it." 

"And  I  continue  to  hold  to  the  theory  that 
it  is  a  business.  I  hold  that  certain  processes 


21  I 

produce  certain  results  ;  invariably  conditions, 
and  results  remain  constant.  Give  me  a 
camera,  I  give  you  a  picture.  If  people 
want  fine  effects  of  light  and  shade,  elegant 
surroundings  depicted,  and  all  that,  let  them 
hire  a  portrait-painter.  Photography  is  a 
business.  Tact  and  talent  to  advertise,  to 
catch  custom,  is  the  key-note  of  success.  A 
woman  wants  a  picture  of  her  child.  I  take 
it.  You  high-toned  fellows  make  it  look  like 

O 

an  angel — pearly  complexion,  sparkling  eyes, 
unnatural  pose,  emotional  features.  What's 
the  use  of  all  that  flummery  ?  It  makes  more 
work,  and  a  picture  is  a  picture,  if  it  shows 
the  face,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Le  Brittaj  with  a  dry  smile. 
"  You  might  cover  yourself  with  a  suit  of 
clothes  cut  out  with  a  hatchet,  but  you 
wouldn't  look  well.  You  photograph  a  face 
in  a  blur  of  hideous  brown,  or  an  ugly  back- 
ground of  antiquated  screen-work.  The  face 
is  there,  that  is  true,  but  robbed  of  all  attrac- 
tions. I  aim  to  have  all  the  accessories  in 
perfection,  I  believe  in  making  the  counter- 
feit presentment  a  gem,  a  treasure.  Here  is 
what  perfect  light  can  do,  here  is  what  proper 
posing  can  effect,  here  is  what  the  right  de- 


212 

velopment  of  the  negative  can  do.  Step  by 
step  I  try  not  to  rob  the  picture  of  natural- 
ness, but  to  enhance  its  naturality,  to  tone 
down  harsh  lines,  to  soften  and  illuminate. 
What  is  the  result  ?  We  educate  people  up 
to  a  higher  appreciation  of  the  service,  we 
cultivate  the  uncultured,  we  banish  botch- 
work,  and  make  of  the  family  photograph 
album  a  gallery  that  vies  with  steel-plate 
range  in  fineness,  nicety  of  execution,  and 
gloss  of  finish.  I  tell  you,  my  friend,  that 
not  one  detail,  from  the  merest  shade  on  the 
hair  to  the  printing  on  the  back  of  the  picture, 
should  be  neglected." 

"  All  right,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "  You 
please  people,  you  educate  them  —  what  for  ? 
To  make  them  demand  more,  the  more  they 
get.  You  produce  fine  pictures,  they  expect 
finer  ones.  You  give  them  too  much  for 
their  money.  Why,  Le  Britta !  a  photog- 
rapher of  the  class  you  represent  has  to 
think,  study,  work — be  an  artist  and  busi- 
ness man  in  one.  It  don't  pay  " 

"It  does  pay!"  interrupted  Le  Britta, 
pointedly.  "  There  is  a  compensation  in  it 
all.  We  give  the  public  better  work  at  less 
money  than  in  the  past ;  for  what  reason  ? 


213 

Because  invention  has  aided  us  in  the  mis- 
sion. We  are  not  only  working  for  our 
patrons,  but  for  ourselves.  Every  step  we 
advance,  we  learn.  Every  experiment  we 
succeed  in  is  for  our  benefit,  and  that  of  the 
world  as  well.  It  is  all  well  enough  to  make 
money,  but  how  much  greater  to  score  a  vic- 
tory as  an  inventor,  an  improver,  to  give  to 
the  world  some  new  process,  some  original 
discovery  that  beautifies  or  instructs  ?  Look 
at  the  new  photographic  colors,  the  latest 
processes,  the  advancement  in  manipulating 
emulsions,  the  new  ways  of  developing  nega- 
tives, the  benefit  of  sensitive  printing  paper ! 
Why  !  I  myself  am  experimenting  on  a  new 
gelatine  printing  paper  that  will  practically 
revolutionize  the  art  in  that  line.  You  stick 
to  the  albumen  paper,  I  suppose  ?  Why  ? 
Because  you  blindly  persist  in  shutting  your 
eyes  to  newer  modes.  You  are  ten  years 
behind  the  times.  Some  day,  a  bright,  ener- 
getic new-process  man  will  come  to  your 
town,  open  a  rival  establishment,  and  you 
will  have  to  learn  what  I  am  forgetting,  or 
abandon  the  business." 

Le  Britta  talked  on  his  pet  theme  for  half 


214 

an  hour,  enthusiastically.  His  auditor  was 
silenced. 

"I  begin  to  think  I  am  a  bit  stubborn,"  he 
admitted,  finally  ;  "but  how  do  you  keep 
posted  on  all  these  new  wrinkles  ?  " 

"  By  studying  all  current  literature  on  the 
subject,  by  keeping  in  correspondence  with 
the  lights  of  the  profession,  by  emulating 
and  excelling  the  leaders  in  the  photographic 
art ;  most  of  all,  by  being  in  touch  and  har- 
mony with  the  Association." 

"  What  Association  ?  " 

"The  P.  A.  of  A." 

"Oh!  you  mean" 

"The  Photographers'  Association  of 
America." 

"  Bah !  A  regular  mutual  admiration 
society.  I  don't  allow  any  set  of  men  to 
dictate  to  me." 

"Dictate?  Why,  man!  join  it,  and,  if 
you  have  a  bright  idea,  the  various  members 
will  be  glad  to  have  you  dictate  to  them.  I 
tell  you,  these  photographers'  conventions  are 
a  place  where  a  man  learns  —  an  annual  love- 
feast  of  the  profession  that  every  live  man 
should  attend.  What  are  they?  An  aggrega- 
tion of  men  with  progressive  ideas,  eager  for 


215 

an  interchange  of  sentiment,  a  great  body 
that  formulates  the  trivial  ideas  of  the  art  into 
definite,  centralized  form,  so  as  to  devote 
time  and  attention  to  grander  themes.  You 
should  attend  just  one  convention  !  Here  is 
a  man  with  a  paper  on  back  grounds  —  the 
result  of  careful  thought,  study  and  investi- 
gation. Here  is  another  with  specimens  of 
flash-light  work.  It  is  studied,  analyzed,  it 
instructs,  it  gives  new  ideas,  it  makes  you 
feel  that  you  are  not  simply  an  isolated 
picture-taker,  but  one  of  a  great  body  of 
active,  intelligent  men,  who  get  out  of  them- 
selves once  a  year  in  a  harmonious  exchange 
of  sentiment  and  opinion,  and  return  to 
routine  work  benefited,  spurred  on  to  do 
something  great  for  the  advance  of  art  and 
the  elevation  and  culture  of  the  masses.  The 
man  who  pretends  to  be  an  adept  photog- 
rapher, and  is  not  a  member  of  the  associa- 
tion, is  certainly  outside  a  charmed  circle  that 
to-day  surrounds  the  world  with  a  chain 
decked  with  the  finest  jewels  of  art,  inven- 
tion and  progress." 

Whether  the  enthusiastic  peroration  con- 
vinced his  companion,  Le  Britta  did  not  find 


2l6 

out,  for  the  station  nearest  to  Hawthorne 
villa  was  reached  as  he  barely  concluded. 

He  felt  refreshed  at  getting  away  from 
brooding  anxiety  concerning  Gladys  Vernon, 
however,  even  if  temporarily,  and  he  walked 
toward  the  Vernon  mansion  in  the  early  morn- 
ing light  with  a  clear  head  and  fixed  plans  as 
to  his  intentions. 

"Perhaps  Gladys  has  gone  to  the  lawyer 
or  the  doctor,"  he  ruminated.  "  I  will  make 
the  villa  my  first  point  of  progress,  however. 
Ah  !  the  servants  are  stirring,"  he  continued, 
as  he  neared  the  house. 

Le  Britta  advanced  up  the  steps  and  rang 
the  bell.  The  echoes  had  scarcely  died  away 
when  the  door  was  opened. 

Ralph  Durand  had  answered  his  ring.  His 
face  was  flushed  with  drink,  his  eyes  heavy 
and  dull,  as  if  he  had  been  making  a  night  of 
it.  He  scowled  darkly.  Then  his  face 
lighted  up  with  a  cunning,  sinister  expression. 

"  Good  !  The  picture-taker  !  "  he  jeered. 
"  Ah  !  I  understand.  You  are  a  quick  actor, 
my  friend.  You  came  here  to  find  Gladys 
Vernon,  my  ward.  You  traced  her  here  ?  " 

"  She  is  here,  then  ?"  breathed  Le  Britta. 

"  Yes,   she  is  here.     Come  in.     There  is 


217 

no  use  quarreling  with  you,  for  I  see  a 
way  to  settle  the  whole  affair  speedily.  You 
won't  call  in  a  hurry  again  !  Come  in,  I  say  !  " 
And  he  led  the  way  to  the  library.  "Now, 
then,  sit  down." 

Le  Britta  regarded  his  host  uneasily  —  this 
reception  of  him  boded  no  favorable  results. 
There  was  a  complacent,  satisfied  look  in 
Du rand's  face  that  showed  that  he  felt  san- 
guine on  some  new  development  of  affairs. 

He  lit  a  cigar,  dashed  off  a  glass  of  liquor, 
and  smiled  familiarly  and  with  insolent  assur- 
ance at  his  unexpected  visitor. 

"I'm  right  in  supposing  you  have  been 
looking  for  Gladys  Vernon  ?"  he  began. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Le  Britta,  "  I  certainly 
have." 

"  And  you  traced  her  here  ?" 

"  I  supposed  she  had  come  here,  yes,"  ad- 
mitted the  photographer. 

"  You  were  right." 

"When?" 

"  A  few  hours  since." 

'*  And  she  is  here  now  ?  " 

"  She  is.  See  here,  my  friend,  we  will 
settle  this  whole  affair  here  and  now.  There 
has  been  row  and  trouble  enough.  It  will  do 


218 

no  good  to  make  any  more.  You  may  hound 
me  down,  employ  detectives  and  all  that,  but 
I  am  in  a  position  to  defy  you.  You  can  pos- 
itively prove  nothing  against  me.  As  exec- 
utor of  the  Vernon  fortune,  as  guardian  of 
Gladys  Vernon,  I  take  formal  possession  of 
Hawthorne  villa  to-day.  That  shuts  out  pry- 
ing investigation  and  interference.  You  have 
sought  for  Gladys  Vernon,  she  is  here.  You 
have  sought  for  her  former  lover,  Sydney 
Vance.  You  will  never  find  him.  You  have 
tried  to  connect  me  with  the  murder  of  Gid- 
eon Vernon  —  a  vain  effort.  You  will  return 
home  and  abandon  your  meddling  interfer- 
ence now,  I  hope,  for  it  will  not  avail  you 
longer.  Affairs  have  come  to  a  basis." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  basis?"  de- 
manded Le  Britta. 

"  I  mean  that  Gladys  Vernon  has  seen  the 
folly  of  her  ways,  has  decided  to  obey  her 
dead  uncle's  injunctions,  and  remain  under 
this  roof  until  she  has  attained  her  majority." 

Jera  Le  Britta  looked  dismayed.  The 
statement  seemed  incredible,  and  yet  the 
plotter  spoke  confidently. 

"  You  tell  me  this  truthfully  ? "  he  de- 
manded. 


219 

"I  do." 

"  Gladys  is  here,  returned  of  her  own  free 
will." 

"Yes." 

"And  consents  to  remain  here  willingly  ?  " 

"  She  does." 

"  I  can  scarcely  credit  it !  " 

"  Ask  her  then." 

"  Eh  ! "  ejaculated  Le  Britta,  with  a  hopeful 
start.  "  I  may  see  her  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"I  may  talk  with  her?" 

"As  much  as  you  wish." 

Le  Britta  had  aroused  to  quick  hope  at  the 
idea  of  seeing  Gladys  and  conversing  with 
her. 

His  heart  sank,  however,  at  the  malignant 
triumph  that  glowed  in  Ralph  Durand's 
face,  predicting  that  he  had  some  sinister  de- 
sign hidden  under  his  new  mask  of  ready 
acquiescence  to  the  demands  of  an  enemy. 

Ralph  Durand  had  proceeded  to  the  door 
of  the  next  room.  His  hand  on  the  knob, 
he  lingered. 

"You  wish  to  see  Miss  Vernon,"  he 
spoke,  assuming  a  cool  dignity  of  manner  so 


220 

foreign  to  his  usual  demeanor,  that  it  was 
ominously  menacing. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Le  Britta. 

Durand  bowed  and  retired.  He  returned 
at  the  end  of  five  minutes  —  five  anxious, 
fluttering  moments  of  suspense  to  the  pho- 
tographer. 

"  Gladys  —  Miss  Vernon." 

Jera  Le  Britta  started  forward  eagerly.  A 
great  cry  of  joy  escaped  his  lips  as  the  door 
opened  and  Gladys  Vernon  appeared,  Durand 
following  her. 

Her  face  was  pale,  her  eyes  downcast. 
Like  one  bound  by  a  spell,  under  the  domin- 
ion of  some  powerful  tyrant,  she  did  not  look 
up.  Her  lips,  tightly  pressed,  seemed  to 
shut  in  the  emotion  that  was  tugging  at  her 
heart-strings. 

"Wait!"  cried  Durand,  in  a  mandatory 
tone,  sharp,  clear,  resonant,  as  Le  Britta  was 
about  to  glide  forward  and  seize  Gladys' 
hand.  "  Miss  Vernon  is  exhausted  by  a  long 
journey.  She  bids  me  speak  for  her.  Is  it 
not  so,  Gladys  ?  " 

The  fair  young  girl  shuddered  slightly. 
Then,  with  icy,  impenetrable  reserve  she 
nodded. 


221 

"  I  told  her  you  were  here,"  continued  the 
miscreant.  "  I  have  asked  her  if  she  wished 
to  see  you.  Her  answer  was  —  no  !  " 

"  I  do  not  believe  it  !  She  is  under  some 
terrible  constraint ! "  burst  forth  Le  Britta, 
excitedly.  "Gladys!  Miss  Vernon  !  speak! 
I  am  your  friend,  the  friend  of  your  friends. 
I  wish  to  tell  you  " 

He  paused.  Gladys  Vernon  had  lifted  her 
haunted,  pained  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  Go,"   she  spoke,  in  a  low,  wailing  voice. 

'  I  do  not  wish  to  discuss  the  past.     I  have 

chosen  my  future.     If  you  are  my  true  friend, 

leave  here,  now  and  forever,  for  I  shall  refuse 

to  see  you  again  !  " 

And  then,  half-reeling,  she  turned  from  the 
room,  leaving  the  petrified  Le  Britta  over- 
come with  consternation  and  despair. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

AT    THE    VILLA. 

JERA  LE  BRITTA  left  Hawthorne  villa  with 
a  depressed  heart  one  hour  after  his  arrival 
there. 

The  mournful  words  of  Gladys  Vernon  had 


222 

been  decisive,  the  calm,  mock-civil  demeanor 
of  Ralph  Durand  stinging  as  the  cut  of  a 
whip.  The  miscreant  had  triumphed  com- 
pletely, and  the  photographer  was  bound  to 
acknowledge  the  fact. 

Le  Britta,  with  bowed  head  and  thoughtful 
mien  walked  sadly  toward  the  village.  He 
found  the  lawyer  at  his  home,  and  was  soon 
closeted  with  him  in  his  library. 

"  I  have  just  come  from  Hawthorne  villa," 
was  Le  Britta's  first  statement,  and  the  lawyer 
was  at  once  interested. 

"You  have  arrived  at  an  opportune 
season,"  spoke  Mr.  Munson.  "I  have  much 
to  tell  you." 

"  Concerning  Durand,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes." 

"  You  know  that  Gladys  has  returned  to 
Hawthorne  villa?" 

"What!" 

The  lawyer  started  as  if  dealt  a  sudden 
blow. 

Le  Britta  rapidly  detailed  his  efforts  to 
trace  the  heiress  of  Hawthorne  villa,  and  the 
result  of  his  late  interview. 

The  narration  petrified  the  lawyer. 

"I  can  scarcely  believe  it  !"  he  murmured. 


223 

"  Gladys  returned  to  Hawthorne  villa  !  Why  ! 
if  that  is  so,  and  I  can  only  talk  with 
her  " 

"  She  will  refuse." 

"  Refuse  to  converse  with  an  old  friend,  her 
dead  uncle's  counselor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  Durand  will  compel  her  to  do  so. 
Do  you  not  understand  yet  how  subtle  and 
far-reaching  are  the  plots  of  this  consum- 
mate villain  ?  There  is  but  one  theory  to 
advance  on." 

"  And  that  is  ?  " 

"The  certainty  that  he  has  Gladys  Ver- 
non's  lover,  Sydney  Vance,  in  his  power." 

"A  prisoner  ?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"Then"- 

"  I  theorize  that  he  has  him  hidden  some- 
where in  the  vicinity  of  the  villa,  or  in  the 
hands  of  paid  emissaries  at  a  distance.  Fur- 
ther, he  has  convinced  Gladys  that  this  is  so. 
She  saw  the  advertisements  he  published. 
While  she  would  never  have  returned  will- 
ingly, the  dread  that  her  lover  might  be  mur- 
dered, surrendered  up  to  justice,  completely 
overcame  her.  She  returned  to  Hawthorne 
villa." 


224 

"And  that  villain,  Durand  "- 

"  Forced  her  to  agree  to  carry  out  his 
wishes." 

''Which  are?" 

"To  refuse  our  friendly  offers  of  assist- 
ance," 

"I  see." 

"To  remain  there  with  seeming  willing- 
ness." 

The  lawyer  reflected  deeply.  His  face 
grew  stern.  He  related  the  discovery  about 
the  missing  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

Le  Britta  was  surprised,  but  enlightened. 
He  understood  now  what  the  treasure 
amounted  to  which  the  tramp  had  located  in 
the  ravine. 

"Then,"  he  said,  "if  the  missing  money 
is  not  found,  Durand  is  beaten  completely  ? " 

"  No,  he  is  only  handicapped." 

"I  do  not  understand." 

"  Why,  if  that  amount  of  ready  cash  was 
in  his  possession,  he  would  begin  his  fraudu- 
lent operations  at  once.  He  would  pretend 
to  invest  with  the  aid  of  accomplices,  he 
would  dissipate  the  money,  seemingly  legally, 
but  in  reality  to  get  it  eventually  into  his 


225 

own  hands.  As  it  is,  the  scheme  will  take 
more  time  to  work." 

"How?" 

"  He  will  claim  that  the  mortgage  cripples 
him  ;  that  he  has  not  sufficient  means  to  pay 
interest  and  living  expenses.  He  will  sell 
the  mining  property  at  a  ruinous  sacrifice, 
the  villa,  every  thing,  any  thing,  in  fact,  to 
handle  ready  cash." 

"  But  that  will  take  time." 

"  Yes." 

"And  time  is  all  I  ask!  "  spoke  Le  Britta, 
with  determined  eyes.  "He  holds  the  upper 
hand  now.  Wait !  " 

Le  Britta  did  not  enlighten  the  lawyer  as 
to  his  intentions,  nor  concerning  his  dis- 
covery of  the  hiding-place  of  the  treasure. 

He  wished  to  investigate  that  branch  of 
the  case  alone.  More  than  that,  he  resolved, 
in  case  he  found  the  money,  to  withhold  it 
from  Durand's  hands,  if  he  had  to  retain  per- 
sonal secret  possession  of  it  until  Gladys 
came  of  age. 

He  correctly  and  readily  surmised  that  one 
motive  Durand  had  in  wishing  Gladys'  return 
was  to  learn  of  the  missing  money,  and  he 
wondered  what  Durand's  next  move  would 


226 

be,  when  he  ascertained  that  the  heiress  was 
entirely  ignorant  concerning  it. 

The  lawyer  had  arrived  at  a  commonplace 
decision  that  they  could  only  wait  until  some- 
thing had  developed,  but  Le  Britta  left  him 
with  a  far  more  serious  and  definite  thought 
in  his  mind. 

He  had  but  one  hope  of  ultimately  defeat- 
ing all  the  plots  of  Ralph  Durand,  and  that 
was  based  on  the  recovery  of  the  tramp.  In 
case  Doctor  Milton  brought  him  through  his 
illness,  and  in  case,  furthermore,  the  tramp 
would  give  his  evidence  against  Durand,  the 
affair  was  ended. 

Then  Gladys  Vernon  would  forever  be  free 
from  the  plotter's  wiles,  Sydney  Vance  might 
return  and  face  his  fellow-men  once  more, 
and  the  efforts  of  the  photographer  to  right  a 
great  wrong  would  be  crowned  with  success. 

But  the  tramp  might  not  recover.  If  he 
did  it  might  be  too  late.  Durand  was  no 
lax  schemer.  He  had  Gladys  Vernon  in  his 
power.  Suppose  he  should  force  the  girl  to 
wed  him ;  suppose  he  should  dispose  of 
what  little  wealth  the  mortgage  had  left  in 
sight ;  suppose  he  should  do  away  with  Syd- 
ney Vance,  for  the  testimony  of  the  latter 


227 

on  the  witness-stand  would  alone  convict 
Durand,  were  it  not  that  Vance  was  himself 
suspected  of  the  crime  of  killing  old  Gideon 
Vernon  ? 

"  The  tramp  is  safe  with  Doctor  Milton," 
mused  Le  Britta,  "the  hidden  money  is  in 
the  ravine,  and  I  hold  the  clue  to  its  where- 
abouts. Sydney  Vance  is  the  element  of 
mystery  in  the  case.  How  can  I  get  an 
inkling  as  to  his  place  of  incarceration?" 

Le  Britta  was  wearied  from  his  long  quest, 
and,  going  to  the  hotel,  he  sought  the  rest 
he  so  needed. 

At  nightfall  he  started  again  for  Haw- 
thorne villa.  He  approached  it  by  a  cir- 
cuitious  route,  for  his  inspection  of  the 
mansion  was  to  be  a  covert  one. 

He  had  decided  to  watch  at  a  distance,  in 
the  hopes  of  seeing  Durand,  theorizing  that 
if  Sydney  Vance  was  anywhere  in  the  vicin- 
ity, the  plotter  might  go  to  visit  him,  and,  by 
following,  he  might  locate  the  refugee  and 
captive. 

After  remaining  in  the  neighborhood  for 
over  an  hour,  Le  Britta  became  impatient. 
There  had  not  been  the  slightest  trace  of 
activity  about  the  villa  —  no  lights,  no  serv- 


228 

ants  visible.  He  came  nearer  to  the  house. 
It  was  closely  shuttered.  He  penetrated  the 
grounds,  he  even  peered  in  at  unguarded 
windows.  There  was  no  sign  of  life  about 
the  gloomy  place. 

Just  leaving  the  grounds,  he  came  to  a 
halt  as  a  carriage  and  two  horses  came  toil- 
ing along  the  sandy  road. 

He  recognized  the  driver  on  the  box  —  it 

c"> 

was  the  steward  whom  Ralph  Durand  had 
employed  a  few  days  previous,  and  as  he  dis- 
mounted to  open  the  iron  gates  he  spied  Le 
Britta. 

"  Looking  for  anybody  ?  "  he  queried,  in  a 
suspicious  tone  of  voice. 

"Yes,"  Le  Britta  was  forced  to  say,  "Mr. 
Durand." 

"  Oh,  him  !     He's  gone." 

"  Gone,  where  ?  " 

"  Away  on  business.  I  just  drove  him 
over  country  to  catch  an  east-bound  train. 
He's  ordered  me  to  close  the  villa  for  the 
next  month.  He  won't  be  back  for  some 
time." 

"  Where  will  a  letter  reach  him  ?  "  ventured 
Le  Britta. 

"Address  in  my  care,"  was  the  keen  re- 


22Q 

sponse.  "  Say,  I  know  you,  and  I  know 
what  you're  after  —  a  trace  of  Miss  Vernon. 
Well,  I've  this  to  say  to  you,  and  that  ends 
it  —  she's  been  sent  to  some  friends  by  Mr. 
Durand,  several  hundred  miles  from  here, 
and  you  won't  be  very  likely  to  find  her  by 
seeking." 

As  he  spoke,  the  man  coolly  led  his  horses 
into  the  grounds,  and  closed  the  gates  on  the 
dismayed  Le  Britta. 

Ralph  Durand  had  scored  another  victory. 
He  had  got  the  whole  game  in  his  hands, 
and  had  covered  his  tracks  by  a  timely  disap- 
pearance. 

"Beaten  —  thrown  off  the  trail!"  mur- 
mured Le  Britta,  slowly  walking  down  the 
road.  "  I  can  do  positively  nothing.  Gladys 
has  been  spirited  away,  Vance,  too,  probably, 
and,  at  a  distance,  Durand  will  mature  his 
plans,  whatever  they  may  be.  A  month  ! 
Why !  in  that  time  the  scoundrel  may  force 
Gladys  to  marry  him,  dispose  of  Vance,  real- 
ize on  the  mortgaged  real  estate,  and  so  com- 
plicate affairs  as  to  leave  nothing  but  wreck 
and  ruin  in  his  wake.  I  give  it  up  at  last,  I 
have  tried  to  help  the  poor  girl,  and  " 

Le  Britta  paused  abruptly  and  started  with 


230 

a  shock,  for  at  just  that  moment  a  wild  form 
rushed  down  the  road,  fairly  colliding-  with 
him. 

Then,  with  a  quick,  excited  ejaculation,  the 
new-comer  grabbed  Le  Britta's  arm,  and 
peered  into  his  face,  keenly  and  excitedly. 

"  I've  found  you  — good  !  " 

Le  Britta  started  and  thrilled,  for,  wonder 
of  wonders  !  the  speaker  was  —  Dr.  Richard 
Milton ! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

GONE  ! 

THE  last  man  in  the  world  Jera  Le  Britta 
would  have  expected  to  see  at  Hawthorne 
villa,  Dr.  Richard  Milton,  gazed  fixidly  at 
his  friend. 

The  photographer  was  almost  too  aston- 
ished to  speak,  but  he  managed  to  gasp  forth: 

"Dick  —  Doctor,  Dick!  What  in  the 
world" 

"Brought  me  here?"- 

"Yes." 

"  After  you." 

"  After  me  I  " 


231 

"  Exactly,  I  have  been  looking  everywhere 
for  you." 

"Why"- 

Doctor  Milton  took  his  companion's  arm 
and  walked  on  with  him. 

"  I  followed  you  to  the  city,"  he  explained. 
"  I  found  you  had  left  the  conclave,  I  imag- 
ined you  had  come  here,  not  having  gone 
home.  What  news,  Jera  ?  " 

Le  Britta  felt  positive  that  his  friend  had 
some  important  disclosure  to  make,  but  he 
repressed  his  curiosity  and  suspense  and 
briefly  narrated  the  developments  in  the  Ver- 
non  case  since  last  they  had  met. 

The  doctor  was  an  interested  listener,  a 
startled  one  too,  as  he  learned  of  the  last 
move  on  the  part  of  Ralph  Durand. 

"  The  scoundrel  has  indeed  check-mated 
your  every  move,"  he  commented.  "It's 
plain  to  me  what  his  plans  are." 

"Then  you  think  ?"- 

"  That  he  has  terrorized  Gladys  Vernon 
completely,  has  removed  her  to  some  secluded 
retreat,  where  she  will  be  a  virtual  prisoner 
in  the  hands  of  paid  emissaries,  that  he 
has  removed  the  lover  Vance  likewise  to 
a  new  prison-place.  He  holds  Vance's  life 


232 

and  liberty  in  his  keeping.  By  this  means 
he  silences  the  girl.  Meantime  he  will  pro- 
ceed to  negotiate  a  sale  on  the  mortgaged 
property  unhampered  by  the  girl's  interfer- 
ence, probably  armed  with  her  written  con- 
sent to  do  so,  and  without  fear  of  you  or  her 
other  friends  troubling  him." 

"  But  the  ready  money,  the  fortune,  the 
hundred  thousand  dollars  —  he  has  not  that !  " 

"  No,  he  has  probably  considered  that  as 
lost  to  him." 

"  And  we  have  it —  we  know  where  it  is  !  " 

"  No,  I  fear  we  do  not,"  interrupted  Doctor 
Milton,  seriously. 

"  Eh  ?     Why  !  what  do  you  mean,  Dick  ?" 

Le  Britta  came  to  a  sudden  standstill,  and 
viewed  his  friend  with  a  startled  look,  for  the 
voice  and  manner  of  the  latter  had  grown 
decidedly  ominous. 

"It  was  that  money  —  that  hidden  treasure 
of  old  Gideon  Vernon's  that  brought  me 
down  here." 

"The  money — the  hidden  treasure?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"It  is  in  danger  !  " 

"The  treasure  in  danger!" 


233 

"Decidedly  so." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"The  patient." 

"  You  mean  the  tramp  ?  " 

"  Exactly.  You  know  the  condition  you 
left  him  in  —  delirious.  Well,  that  next  day 
he  got  suddenly  better.  The  case  perplexed 
me.  One  hour  he  would  be  rational,  the 
next  raving.  I  encouraged  the  former  mood, 
even  to  the  taxing  of  his  vitality,  and  began 
to  administer  a  strong  stimulant.  Yesterday 
evening  he  was  sleeping  quietly  when  I  left 
him.  I  went  to  call  on  a  patient.  When  I 
returned  " 

Doctor  Milton  paused  impressively  and 
sighed — a  troubled,  anxious  sigh. 

"When   I  returned,"  he  repeated,  in  con-' 
elusion,  "the  tramp  was  —  gone!" 

"  Gone  !  "  cried  Le  Britta,  with  a  violent 
start  and  in  blank  wonderment,  "you  mean  !" 

"  Disappeared." 

"Then  he  had  escaped?" 

"  Rather,  gone  away.  With  him  was  miss- 
ing the  bottle  from  which  I  had  administered 
the  stimulating  medicine.  I  am  now  satisfied 
that  the  tramp  had  possessed  his  senses  all 
day.  He  watched  me.  He  realized  his  situation. 


234 

His  wounded  arm  was  no  detriment  to  getting 
around.  It  was  the  fever,  the  frequent  fits 
of  delirium  that  bothered  him,  and  his  weak- 
ness. I  believe  he  recalled  how  he  had  im- 
parted his  secret  to  us.  I  think  he  regretted 
it.  At  all  events,  he  had  arisen,  dressed 
himself,  and  taking  the  stimulant  and  a  bottle 
of  brandy  with  him,  had  disappeared." 

"You  followed  him  "- 

"I  tried  to.  At  first  I  thought  he  had 
wandered  away  in  delirium.  I  never  imag- 
ined he  could  go  far  in  his  terribly  weak  con- 
dition. Then  in  a  flash,  I  thought  of  an 
impelling  motive  for  his  flight  —  the  hidden 
treasure.  I  knew  not  of  the  success  or  fail- 
ure of  your  efforts  to  secure  a  copy  of  the 
missing  half  of  his  written  secret.  I  had  men 
search  in  the  vicinity  of  my  office  and 
throughout  the  town.  No  trace.  I  started 
for  the  conclave  after  you.  I  hoped  to  find 
you  here,  and  here  I  came.  That  is  how  I 
happen  to  be  here." 

The  doctor's  graphic  story  bewildered  and 
yet  aroused  Le  Britta. 

His  eyes  scintillated  with  anxiety  and  ex- 
citement. 


235 

"  Dick !  "  he  ejaculated,  "  we  must  find  that 
man." 

"  I  should  say  so  !  " 

"  You  think  he  came  here  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  started  for  here." 

"  In  quest  of  the  hidden  treasure  ?  " 

"  What  else  ?  " 

"  He  may  have  fallen  by  the  way." 

"That  is  probable,  but  this  is  the  end  of 
the  trail  to  guard.  Possibly  I  am  here 
ahead  of  him.  He  would  have  to  travel 
slowly.  There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  but 
that  he  has  changed  his  mind,  and,  his 
strength  returned  and  his  old  covetousness 
revived,  he  wishes  to  secure  the  treasure." 

"  We  must  stop  him  !  " 

"  Rather  anticipate  him.  You  see,  Le 
Britta,  he  may  not  have  arrived.  If  we 
secure  the  treasure  or  find  it  intact,  one  of  us 
will  remain  at  the  spot  where  it  is  hidden  and 
await  the  tramp's  coming.  The  other,  if  he 
does  not  soon  arrive,  will  go  back  toward 
home,  and  try  to  find  him  on  the  way  hither." 

"  Dick  !  you  are  a  jewel  to  plan  !  "  spoke 
Le  Britta,  gratefully.  "  That  will  be  the  move 
to  make,  for,  if  the  tramp  has  his  senses 


236 

again,  all  the  more  reason  than  ever  that  we 
keep  him  closely  guarded  and  near  us." 

"  You  mean  ?  " 

"That  we  may  as  soon  as  possible  con- 
front that  villain  Durand  with  him,  and  clip 
his  wings  effectually  by  proving  him,  on  the 
tramp's  clear  evidence,  to  be  the  murderer 
of  old  Gideon  Vernon  ! " 

The  two  friends  hurried  on,  Le  Britta  lead- 
ing the  way  toward  the  nearest  house. 

"  Wait  here,"  he  said,  upon  reaching  a 
small  cottage. 

He  disappeared  down  the  graveled  walk, 
and  the  waiting  doctor  heard  him  knock  at 
the  rear  door.  Then  there  was  a  brief  par- 
ley, and  Le  Britta  reappeared. 

"I've  borrowed  a  lantern,"  he  announced, 

"Then  you  intend" 

"To  go  at  once  to  the  ravine." 

"You  think  you  can  locate  the  spot?" 

"Where  the  treasure  is  secreted?  —  we 
must !  " 

"And  at  night!" 

"The  tramp  may  arrive  at  any  moment.  I 
have  explicit  directions  from  the  message  he 
had  written.  I  looked  over  the  ground  to- 
day, but  believed  the  treasure  to  be  safe 


237 

enough  for  a  later  visit,  and  my  thoughts 
and  time  were  occupied  with  poor  Gladys 
Vernon's  affairs.  If  we  can  only  recover  the 
tramp,  her  persecutions  are  over." 

"And  Ralph  Durand's  just  began." 

"  Yes.  Here  we  are.  Down  the  path 
here  —  this  is  certainly  the  way  Gideon 
Vernon  came  the  night  of  the  murder,  ac- 
cording to  the  tramp's  statement.  There  is 
the  large  stone  described.  Hold  the  lantern. 
Here  is  a  clump  of  bushes.  That's  it !  Hold 
the  lantern  higher.  Now,  then,  hand  it 
down  to  me." 

Le  Britta,  with  the  contents  of  the  written 
key  to  the  secret  treasure  well  memorized, 
had  led  his  companion  down  the  ravine. 

Step  by  step  he  had  traced  out  the  location 
of  the  spot  where  Gideon  Vernon  had  put 
away  his  ready  cash  fortune  to  prevent  it  fall- 
ing into  unfriendly  hands,  and  had  died  ere 
he  could  communicate  the  secret  to  his 
niece,  Gladys. 

"  Here  is  the  rock  described,"  spoke  Le 
Britta,  eagerly.  "  Yes,  this  is  the  exact  spot, 
but " 

An  ejaculation  of  consternation  escaped  his 
lips.  Dr.  Richard  Milton  leaned  over  the 


238 

edge  of  the  ravine,  thrilling  at  its  ominous 
echo. 

"What  is  it?"    he  queried,  in    suspense. 
"You  have  located  the  right  spot?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  the  treasure  " 

"  We  are  too  late  !"  announced  Le  Britta, 
in  a  hollow  tone  of  voice  ;  "  the  treasure  is  — 
gone ! " 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN     GLOOM. 

GONE  ! 

Yes,  the  treasure  was  gone.  The  dismayed 
Le  Britta  knew  it  at  a  glance,  the  startled 
Doctor  Milton  realized  the  fact  in  a  very  few 
moments  of  time. 

It  had  been  there,  and  recently  too.  The 
correct  hiding-place  of  the  fortune  had  been 
located.  All  these  facts  were  soon  verified, 
but — the  situation  could  be  summed  up  in 
five  little  words - 

They  had  come  too  late  / 

The  tramp,  Doctor  Milton's  mysterious 
patient,  had  preceded  them. 

As  Doctor  Milton  sprang  down  the  rocky 


239 

ledge  to  the  side  of  his  friend,  and  viewed 
the  spot  in  the  flickering  rays  of  the  lantern, 
he  saw  at  a  glance  that  there  was  real  cause 
for  anxiety  and  consternation. 

There  lay  a  great  flat  stone  overturned. 

In  the  soft  yielding  earth  beneath  was  the 
impress  of  a  broad  wallet. 

The  dirt  was  disturbed,  and  the  spot 
showed  evidences  of  a  recent  visit. 

At  first,  the  two  friends  feared  that  their 
startling  discovery  might  have  some  connec- 
tion with  the  flight  of  Ralph  Durand. 

They  momentarily  chilled,  as  they  reflected 
that  he  might  have  discovered  the  hiding- 
place  of  the  fortune,  have  secured  the  treas- 
ure, and  have  disappeared  with  it. 

But,  no  !  Lying  on  the  ground  near  the 
stone  was  a  piece  of  white  cloth,  and,  picking 
it  up,  Doctor  Milton  announced : 

"  The  tramp  was  here  !  " 

"  You  are  sure  ? "  breathed  Le  Britta, 
anxiously. 

"Positive." 

"Why?" 

"You  see  this  piece  of  cloth?  " 

"  Yes." 


240 

"  It  is  one  of  the  bandages  I  placed  on  his 
arm." 

"  Which  he  dropped  here  ?  " 

"  In  his  rough  haste  in  securing  the  treas- 
ure, yes.  That  is  the  only  solution  to  the 
affair.  The  tramp  has  anticipated  us.  The 
treasure  is  gone." 

"  Oh  !  why  did  I  not  come  here  early  this 
morning,"  groaned  Le  Britta. 

"  No  matter  about  that  now." 

"  We  must  try  to  find  the  tramp." 

"  It  will  be  more  difficult  to  trace  a  man 
".nknown  than  a  person  like  Ralph  Durand. 
Le  Britta,  I  fear  we  are  at  odds  with  fate. 
We  have  lost  the  game." 

It  looked  so.  Within  an  hour  the  two 
friends  were  at  the  village. 

Promised  reward  spurred  the  town  officials 
to  send  out  their  men  in  quest  of  the  tramp 
as  described  by  the  photographer. 

All  the  next  day  both  Le  Britta  and  the 
doctor  personally  scoured  the  country  for 
some  trace  of  the  man  who  had  rewarded 
their  kindness  by  carrying  away  a  royal  fort- 
une. 

Two  nights  later,  discouraged  and  baffled, 


241 

the   friends  left   the    vicinity    of   Hawthorne 
villa. 

The  doctor  was  nettled  at  being  beaten  ; 
Le  Britta  felt  discouraged,  disheartened. 

As  a  sudden  storm  sweeps  a  hill-top  of 
verdure  in  a  moment  of  time,  or  a  swooping 
breeze  changes  the  whole  aspect  of  a  placid 
pool,  so  had  the  past  two  days  disintegrated 
and  demolished  the  fabric  of  plot,  counter- 
plot and  complication  which  had  presented 
itself  as  a  tangible  labyrinth  to  Le  Britta. 

Not  a  clue  was  in  sight.  Durand  had  dis- 
appeared, taking  with  him  Gladys  Vernon 
and  Sydney  Vance. 

The  tramp  had  secured  the  hidden  fortune, 
and  was  not  to  be  found. 

Justice  slept ;  the  right  had  been  defeated  ; 
wrong  and  cunning  were  seemingly  triumph- 
ant. 

All  that  Le  Britta  had  done  in  the  interest 
of  justice  had,  it  seemed,  been  of  no  avail. 

Home  and  its  endearments  looked  dark, 
with  a  return  signalized  by  disaster  and 
defeat,  and  duty  half  accomplished. 

"That  is  the  end  of  the  Vernon  case!" 
sighed  Doctor  Milton,  as  the  train  neared 
home. 

16 


242 

"  No,"  replied  Le  Britta,  "  I  cannot  believe 
it.  It  only  sleeps  —  we  are  shut  out  from 
further  present  investigation,  villainy  is  tri- 
umphant, innocence  persecuted,  but — 'the 
mills  of  the  gods  grind  slowly,  but  they 
grind  exceedingly  small  ! '  I  feel  in  my 
heart  that  we  shall  yet  be  called  upon  to 
champion  anew  the  cause  of  poor  Gladys 
Vernon.  I  feel  that  yet,  face  to  face,  skill 
for  skill,  plot  for  plot,  blow  for  blow,  I  shall 
meet  that  double-hearted  scoundrel,  Ralph 
Durand,  and  vanquish  him  !  " 

Prophetic  words  !  The  hour  was  to  dawn, 
the  great  Vernon  case  was  to  be  revivified, 
but  at  a  time  and  in  a  manner  little  dreamed 
of  by  the  true-hearted  photographer  ! 

For  the  present  it  slumbered,  for  the  time 
being  all  its  obscured  issues  were  hidden 
completely  from  the  public  view. 

And  Jera  Le  Britta  resumed  his  duties  as 
citizen,  friend  and  a  man  of  family,  with  many 
a  longing  thought  of  the  lives  held  under  the 
cruel  domination  of  Ralph  Durand's  wicked 
power, '  until  one  night,  one  dark,  stormy 
night,  when  the  wind  howled  dismally  and 
the  rain  beat  frantically  at  casement  and 
threshold,  and  the  great  wings  of  the  storm 


243 

flapped  out  the  light  of  moon  and  stars,  the 
gifted  artist  opened  the  book  of  his  life  at  a 
new  and  an  eventful  page. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A    STRANGE    GUIDE. 

FIERCE  rose  the  tempest ;  darker  and 
wilder  grew  the  night. 

Such  a  night  !  Jera  Le  Britta  drew  his 
coat  closer  about  his  neck,  drove  his  hat  down 
over  his  brow,  bent  his  head  to  the  storm 
and  plodded  along  the  muddy  road,  splashing 
in  and  out  great  ruts  and  puddles  and  almost 
blindly  forcing  his  way  forward  on  his  mis- 
sion. 

A  mission  in  keeping  with  the  night  and 
its  devastating  influences.  A  mission  of  life 
or  death,  a  self-imposed  duty  that  stern 
necessity  had  urged  upon  him. 

For  over  a  month  he  had  been  busy  at  his 
studio.  Since  the  distressing  climax  in  the 
affairs  of  the  Vernons,  Le  Britta  had  devoted 
his  energies  to  his  profession  with  renewed 
vigor  and  enterprise. 

The  season   was  a  brisk  one  and  it  had 


244 

been  all  work  —  little  time  for  study  or  ex- 
periment. He  had  to  catch  up — to  pay 
with  double  labor  for  the  hours  he  had 
bestowed  on  the  affairs  of  others.  There 
were  old  orders  to  fill,  and  new  ones  to 
attend  to.  His  industrious  assistant,  Maud, 
had  her  hands  full.  Le  Britta  found  barely 
time  to  write  to  the  Vernon  lawyer,  only  to 
receive  the  disheartening  reply  that  no  trace 
of  Gladys  or  Durand  had  been  discovered. 

The  afternoon  preceding  that  stormy  night, 
Doctor  Milton  had  received  a  call  from  a 
patient  some  thirty  miles  distant,  who,  hear- 
ing of  his  rare  skill,  had  sent  for  him.  The 
doctor  had  taken  the  train  for  his  destination, 
but  just  at  dusk  Le  Britta  received  a  telegram 
bearing  his  friend's  signature. 

It  told  Le  Britta  briefly  that  the  doctor 
had  found  his  patient  in  an  extremely  critical 
condition  ;  that  he  needed  a  certain  medicine 
not  to  be  obtained  in  the  town  near  the  home 
of  his  patient,  and  it  asked  him  to  go  to  his 
office  and  secure  a  certain  phial.  This  he 
was  to  hand  to  the  express  messenger  on  the 
evening  train,  with  instructions  to  deliver  it 
to  a  messenger  waiting  at  the  depot  of  the 
town  from  which  the  telegram  was  dated. 


245 

Circumstances  tended  to  interfere  with  this 
arrangement,  however.  In  the  first  place, 
the  message  was  delayed  in  its  delivery  ;  in 
the  next  place,  Le  Britta  found  some  difficulty 
in  securing  the  bottle  the  doctor  needed. 

When  he  hurried  to  the  depot  to  catch  the 
express  messenger,  it  was  to  see  the  train 
just  moving  away. 

"No  train  until  midnight  now,"  ruminated 
Le  Britta,  concernedly.  "  I  declare,  it's  too 
bad  !  Doctor  Dick  will  be  expecting  the 
medicine.  He  wouldn't  go  to  all  this  trouble 
about  it  if  it  wasn't  important.  He  must  have 
it.  What  had  I  better  do.  I'll  take  it  to 
him." 

Le  Britta  at  once  framed  a  dispatch  to  the 
station-agent  at  the  town  where  the  doctor 
was,  asking  him  to  inform  Doctor  Milton's 
messenger  that  he  had  missed  the  train,  but 
would  deliver  the  medicine  in  person  as  soon 
as  a  fast  horse  could  carry  him  thither. 

Then,  arranging  some  little  studio  details 
that  were  necessary,  Le  Britta  proceeded  to 
the  nearest  livery-stable  and  obtained  the 
fastest  light  turnout  in  the  establishment. 

It  was  dusk  when   he   started.     One  hour 


246 

later  the  storm  overtook  him.  The  darkness 
was  intense,  the  road  unfamiliar. 

Crash  !  off  went  a  wheel  in  a  deep  rut. 
With  a  neigh  of  pain  the  horse  sank  down, 
its  forefoot  disabled  by  a  slip. 

A  light  showed  near  by — the  only  one 
visible  on  the  dreary  landscape.  Le  Britta 
hurried  toward  it,  leading  the  horse.  He 
rapidly  directed  the  humble  occupant  of  the 
house  to  care  for  the  steed  until  the  morrow, 
inquired  his  way,  and  started  on  foot  for  his 
destination,  which,  he  learned,  was  five  miles 
straight  ahead. 

He  was  sorry  that  he  had  undertaken  the 
difficult  task,  less  than  a  mile  on  his  course. 
The  storm  had  redoubled  its  fury,  the  wind 
now  blew  a  perfect  hurricane,  and  the  rain 
came  down  in  sheets.  In  doubt  he  groped 
his  way  forward. 

"'Straight  ahead,'  he  said,"  murmured  Le 
Britta,  grimly,  at  last,  as,  wearied  and  breath- 
less, he  shrank  to  a  tree  for  shelter.  "  It 
strikes  me  that  I  am  going  decidedly  crooked. 
Hello  !  I  see  my  mistake  now.  This  is  no 
road,  it  is  not  even  a  path — I  have  strayed 
from  the  highway —  I  am  lost !" 

Ruefully  Le  Britta  surveyed  his  surround- 


247 

ings.  Not  a  light  glowed  in  the  vicinity.  He 
was  entirely  at  sea  as  to  the  distance,  location 
and  even  direction.  The  country  was  moder- 
ately thickly  settled  in  portions,  however, 
and  he  felt  assured  that  forward  progress 
would  eventually  bring  him  to  some  habita- 
tion. 

On  he  plodded.  Knee-deep  he  stumbled 
into  a  bog.  He  struggled  out  of  it  to  fall 
into  a  pit.  He  clambered  out  of  that  to  dash 
into  a  lot  of  briers. 

Wet,  dismayed,  harassed,  the  photog- 
rapher almost  despaired  of  reaching  his 
friend  Doctor  Milton  before  midnight.  With 
a  glow  of  hope,  he  suddenly  hurried  forward, 
however. 

"  A  light !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  It  seems  quite 
near  at  hand,  too.  If  I  can  find  some  farmer 
to  hitch  up  and  drive  me  to  the  town  where 
Dick  is,  I  shall  be  all  right." 

It  took  Le  Britta  fully  an  hour  to  gain  the 
light  that  was  less  than  half  a  mile  distant. 
A  more  desolate  tract  of  land  he  had  never 
traversed.  At  one  place  quarry  excavations 
showed,  at  another  felled  timber  almost  ob- 
structed his  progress ;  but  finally,  soaked 
and  panting  from  his  arduous  exertions,  Le 


248 

Britta  came  out  upon  a  barren  open  space, 
with  about  as  miserable  an  apology  for  a 
human  habitation  as  he  had  ever  seen,  a  few 
rods  beyond  him. 

It  was  a  hut  that  the  poorest  of  the  poor 
might  consent  to  call  home,  and  then  only 
under  protest.  It  had  but  one  window,  and 
that  he^d  only  one  whole  pane  of  glass. 
Through  it,  from  a  candle  set  on  a  rude  deal- 
table  within  a  sparingly  furnished  room, 
emanated  the  glow  that  had  been,  to  him,  a 
beacon  to  safety  and  shelter. 

The  dripping  eaves  and  the  sides  of  the 
hut  were,  however,  a  shield  from  the  driving 
wind,  and  Le  Britta  paused  there  and  glanced 
curiously  in  at  the  window. 

A  little  wood  fire  blazed  in  the  fireplace. 
Near  it,  her  head  held  in  one  hand  in  a 
thoughtful,  wearied  pose,  was  a  little  girl  of 
about  eleven  years. 

Her  attire  was  of  the  coarsest  and  com- 
monest fabrics,  threadbare,  and  in  places 
frayed  and  tattered,  but  wonderfully  clean. 
Abject  poverty  surrounded  her.  It  spoke  in 
the  bare  walls,  the  broken  fragments  of  food 
on  the  table,  the  pinched,  wan  face  of  the 
child. 


249 

That  face,  however,  had  something  so 
pathetic  in  it,  something  so  strange  and 
pleading,  that  Le  Britta's  heart  stirred  and 
thrilled  as  he  gazed  at  its  pure  clear-cut  pro- 
file, as  if  he  was  surveying  some  artistic 
portrait 

He  went  around  to  the  door  and  knocked. 
The  next  minute  it  was  opened. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  spoke  the  child,  in  a  sweet, 
gentle  tone  of  voice. 

"A  stranger,"  responded  Le  Britta,  "I 
have  lost  my  way  in  the  storm.  Are  you  all 
alone  here,  my  child  ?  Can  I  get  no  one  to 
guide  me  to  Bayville  ?  " 

Something  in  the  sweet,  loving  face  turned 
toward  him,  puzzled  him.  The  girl  seemed 
to  look  at  him,  and  yet  beyond  him  with  a 
blank,  far-away  expression  in  her  strange 
eyes. 

"There  is  no  one  who  could  do  that  but 
myself,"  she  said.  "  It  is  only  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  to  the  road,  and  a  mile  down  that  to 
Bayville." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Le  Britta,  "so  near? 
Thank  you.  I  can  find  my  way." 

"  I  fear  not,  if  you  are  a  stranger,"  re- 
sponded the  girl  in  the  same  soft,  well-modu- 


250 

lated  tones.  'There  are  deep  pits  to  pass, 
and  to  a  stranger  on  such  a  night  it  would  be 
dangerous.  Wait,  sir,  till  I  get  my  cloak  and 
hood,  and  I  will  lead  you  as  far  as  the 
road." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  " 

Le  Britta  stepped  inside  the  hut.  The 
child  walked  about  like  one  in  a  dream,  so 
slow  and  yet  gliding  were  her  movements. 
She  proceeded  to  a  cupboard,  and  took  out  a 
well-worn  hood  and  cloak. 

"  I  am  ready,"  she  said. 

Le  Britta  retreated  through  the  open  door- 
way. The  little  girl  followed  him,  softly 
closed  the  door,  sighed  anxiously,  and  then 
seemed  to  grope  out  toward  him. 

"  Let  me  take  your  hand,"  she  said,  sweetly. 
"  That  is  it,"  as  he  grasped  the  little  hand 
within  his  own.  "  Now,  only  keep  by  my 
side,  and  be  careful  not  to  stumble.  Only, 
let  me  guide  you." 

"If  you  had  a  lantern,"  suggested  Le 
Britta,  somehow  deeply  interested  in  the 
gentle  and  careful  movements  of  his  strange 
guide. 

"A  lantern?"  repeated  the   child,  softly. 


'  We  have  one,  but  it  would  be  of  no  use  to 
me." 

"No  use  —  why?" 

"No,  for— I  am  blind!" 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  BLIND  GIRL. 

BLIND  ! 

Jera  Le  Britta  stopped  suddenly.  For  the 
moment  he  was  rendered  speechless  with 
the  surprise  the  simple,  pathetic  announcement 
caused  him. 

"Blind!"  he  ejaculated,  finally.  "Oh! 
my  child." 

"You  fear  to  trust  me  to  guide  you?" 
smiled  the  little  girl.  "You  need  not.  Why, 
I  know  every  foot  of  the  way,  with  no  eyes  at 
all,  better  than  those  who  have  two  of  them. 
Keep  tight  hold  of  my  hand,  only  trust  to  me. 
I  will  not  let  you  fall  into  any  of  the  pits,  or 
fall  myself,  never  fear  !  " 

Jera  Le  Britta  confessed  to  mingled  emo- 
tions the  strangest  he  had  ever  experienced. 

The  situation  was  thrilling.  He  shud- 
dered, as  even  in  the  blackness  of.  the  night 


252 

he  could  see  deep  excavations  yawning  at  the 
sides  of  the  narrow  path  they  pursued.  His 
guide  advanced  slowly,  but  unhesitatingly. 
Sure-footed,  possessed  of  some  rare  instinct- 
ive gift  of  perception,  she  at  last  led  her 
startled  companion  to  a  point  where  a  broad 
highway  ran,  and  down  its  far  length  gleamed 
the  lights  of  the  town  he  had  sought  so 
vainly. 

For  the  present,  however,  Jera  Le  Britta's 
thoughts  were  not  on  Doctor  Milton  or  his 
mission  of  the  night.  He  forgot  storm  and 
discomfort  amid  the  deepest,  tenderest  inter- 
est in  the  little  child  before  him. 

His  heart  was  touched  at  her  misfortune, 
something  in  the  sweet,  pure  face  brought 
the  tears  of  pity  and  love  to  his  eyes,  and 
made  his  heart  beat  the  faster  with  sympathy. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  thank  you,"  he 
said,  pressing  a  bank  note  in  her  palm. 

"This  is  money,  is  it  not?"  she  asked, 
simply. 

"  Yes." 

"And  you  can  spare  it — I  have  earned  it 
honestly  ?  " 

"  Ten  times  over  !  "  cried  Le  Britta,  deeply 


253 

touched  at  the  earnest  probity  of  his  little 
guide. 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,  then,"  she  said 
pathetically,  "  for  I  need  it." 

'  You  do  not  live  in  that  lonely  place 
alone,  surely  ?  "  spoke  Le  Britta. 

"Almost,"  was  the  answer.  "  My  aunt, 
who  is  old  and  poorly,  comes  over  once  a 
week  from  a  farm  on  the  ridge,  where  she 
works,  to  stay  all  night,  and  mend  my 
clothes,  and  do  things  I  cannot  about  the 
house.  She  brings  me  food,  too,  but  I  earn 
quite  a  little,  carrying  water  to  the  quarry- 
workers,  daytimes." 

"  But  your  father  —  your  mother  ?" 

"  My  mother  died  two  years  ago,"  was  the 
answer,  with  a  slight  sob.  "  My  father  has 
not  been  here  since  her  funeral.  He  took  to 
drink,  but  I  am  keeping  the  house  for  him. 
They  wanted  to  send  me  to  the  poor-house, 
but  I  wouldn't  go.  I  promised  my  angel 
mother  to  keep  a  shelter  for  poor  father's 
head,  and  I  stay  at  the  old  hut.  He  will 
conic  some  day  —  oh,  yes!"  And  the  little 
matronly  creature  sighed  wisely,  like  a  guard- 
ian over  a  wayward  charge.  "  Some  day  he 
will  get  tired  of  the  cruel  drink,  and  will 


254 

come    home    to    nursing,    and    comfort,    and 

love ! " 

"  Poor,  afflicted  child  !  " 

Murmuring  the  words,  Jera  Le  Britta  stood 
gazing  after  her  as  she  bade  him  good-by, 
and  started  back  the  way  she  had  come. 

He  trembled  for  her  safety,  but,  as  the 
darkness  swallowed  her  up,  he  realized  how 
futile  would  be  his  blind  gropings  along  that 
narrow  path  ;  he  recalled  her  confident  assur- 
ances that  she  knew  every  foot  of  the  way, 
and  had  traversed  it  a  thousand  times. 

"  I  shall  not  lose  sight  of  the  poor  child," 
he  told  himself,  as  he  started  down  the  road. 
"  How  wicked  for  humanity  blessed  with 
sight  and  reason  to  complain  at  trifles,  when 
that  little  waif  is  deprived  of  the  gift  of  see- 
ing, of  friends,  of  even  a  decent  shelter,  and 
yet  patiently,  almost  cheerfully,  assumes  her 
cross  !  She  interests  me,  she  appeals  to  my 
sympathy.  I  shall  try  and  brighten  her  con- 
dition in  some  way." 

Le  Britta  pursued  his  way.  He  little 
dreamed  that  he  was  indeed  to  see  the  little 
child  again,  and  that,  too,  sooner  than  he 
had  expected  ;  that  her  influence  was  to  cast 
a  singular  glow  over  his  life,  and  to  become 


255 

strangely  mingled  with  the  plots  that  had 
affected  his  recent  interest  in  the  great 
Vernon  case. 

"The  town  at  last,"  sighed  Le  Britta,  as 
wearied  and  wet  to  the  skin  he  reached  a 
tavern. 

Brief  inquiries  located  the  doctor  and  his 
patient.  Dr.  Richard  Milton  greeted  Le 
Britta  warmly,  gratefully,  when  he  heard  his 
narrative  of  the  night's  adventures.  He  ex- 
plained the  importance  of  the  medicine  he 
had  brought. 

"  I  shall  be  with  my  patient  most  of  the 
night,"  he  said.  "  You  had  better  go  to  the 
hotel,  and  get  dry  and  keep  warm  after  the 
terrible  exposure  of  the  night." 

"Can  I  not  help  you  in  any  way?" 

"No,  thanks.  I  will  call  for  you  in  the 
morning." 

"And  we  will  return  home  together." 

"Exactly." 

This  was  agreed  on.  Le  Britta  left  the 
doctor  with  his  patient  in  a  gloomy  old  man- 
sion, and  was  soon  tucked  in  a  comfortable 
bed,  and  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

Doctor  Milton  appeared  at  dawn  to  report 
his  patient  past  the  crisis  and  on  the  road  to 


256 

recovery,  thanks  to  the  potent  medicine  that 
the  photographer  had  brought,  and  they  had 
breakfast  together. 

Le  Britta  had  not  forgotten  the  little  blind 
girl.  As  they  strolled  toward  the  railroad 
depot  he  related  the  details  of  his  meeting 
with  the  child. 

"  We  have  time  to  spare.  Shall  we  go 
and  see  her  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  care,"  replied  Doctor  Milton.  "  It 
is  two  hours  to  train  time  yet." 

"  I  think  I  can  find  the  hut,"  spoke  Le 
Britta.  "  Yes,  it  was  in  that  direction,  and 
-look,  Dick,  look!" 

Le  Britta  excitedly  seized  his  companion's 
arm  and  pointed  down  the  road. 

"Eh?     What  is  it,  Jera?" 

"The  very  child!" 

"The  blind  girl?" 

"Yes." 

An  advancing  figure  enchained  their  mutual 
attention.  It  was  that  of  the  blind  child,  and 
she  was  hurrying  toward  the  town  as  fast  as 
she  could  walk. 

Le  Britta  advanced  to  intercept  her. 

"  Wait,  wait,  my  child  ! "  he  said,  seizing 
her  arm. 


257 

The  blind  girl  lifted  her  face  to  that  of  the 
speaker  with  a  quick,  pleased  smile. 

"  I  know  you  —  I  remember  your  voice  !  " 
she  cried. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  murmured  Le  Britta. 

"  Yes,  you  are  the  gentleman  who  gave 
me  the  money  last  night.  Oh,  sir!  do  not 
detain  me  just  now.  Oh,  sir !  I  have  such 
news  ! " 

Her  face  was  aglow  with  emotion  and  ex- 
citement as  she  soke. 

1  Why  are  you  going  to  the  village  —  what 
is  your  hurry  ?"  queried  Le  Britta. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  half-whispered,  her 
features  scintillating  with  joy — "oh,  sir!  he 
has  come  back  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

CLUE    OR    MISTAKE? 

"  HE  has  come  back  !  " 

The  illuminated  face  of  the  little  child,  the 
accents  of  pride,  delight  and  affection  in  her 
gentle  voice,  were  indescribable  as  she  ut- 
tered the  fervent  words.  Deeply  interested, 

Le  Britta  asked : 

17 


258 

"  You  mean  your  father?" 

"Yes,  poor  old  father!  I  knew  it,  I  told 
you  so.  He's  come  back,  but,  oh  !  "  and  the 
face  fell  to  sadness  and  anxiety,  "he's  come 
back  so  worn,  so  ill,  may  be  dying  !  "  she 
concluded,  in  a  tone  sunk  to  a  whisper  of 
terror. 

The  two  friends  exchanged  glances  of  in- 
terest and  sympathy. 

"  And  where  were  you  going  ?"  asked  Le 
Britta. 

"To  the  village.  I  must  get  a  doctor. 
The  money  you  gave  me  last  night  will  pay 
for  one,  will  it  not." 

"  My  friend  here  with  me  is  a  physician," 
interrupted  the  photographer. 

"  Oh  !   I  am  so  glad." 

"  And  he  will  charge  you  nothing.  Come, 
doctor,  we  may  be  of  use  to  the  child's 
father." 

"  Oh  !  how  kind  you  are,"  murmured  the 
girl,  fervently. 

She  led  the  way  from  the  town,  the  others 
following.  Her  accuracy  of  step  engrossed 
the  doctor.  She  seemed  to  feel  her  way  with 
her  feet,  and  never  stumbled  or  made  a  mis- 
step. 


259 

Into  the  wretched  hut  Edna  —  for  she  had 
told  them  that  was  her  name  —  ushered 
them. 

"Where  is  your  father?"  asked  Le  Britta. 

Edna  pointed  to  the  next  room. 

"  He  is  in  there.  You  will  try  and  make 
him  well,  won't  you  ?  " 

"We  will,  indeed!" 

Doctor  Milton  removed  his  hat,  and  ad- 
vanced to  the  door  of  the  little  apartment. 
He  entered  it.  Le  Britta,  watching  the  girl, 
was  startled  by  a  sudden  ejaculation  a  minute 
later.  Immediately  thereafter,  Doctor  Milton, 
with  a  startled  face,  reappeared. 

"  Le  Britta!"  he  almost  gasped,  "come 
here." 

"What  is  it,  Dick?" 

Doctor  Milton  pointed  to  a  low  cot  on 
which  lay  the  figure  of  a  man. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  How  should  I,  a  stranger?" 

"  Look  closer." 

"Mercy!   Dick,  it  is"- 

"The  tramp!" 

Staring  in  unfeigned  amazement,  the  two 
friends  stood  regarding  the  figure  on  the 
couch. 


260 

It  was  the  tramp  —  the  beneficiary  of  Dr. 
Richard  Milton's  kindness  in  the  past  —  the 
homeless  wanderer  who  had  imparted  to 
them  the  secret  of  the  hidden  treasure  in  the 
ravine  at  Hawthorne  villa. 

Thinner,  paler,  weaker  than  ever,  there  he 
lay.  The  man  they  had  sought  for  so  ardu- 
ously and  unsuccessfully,  the  man  who  had 
evidently  secured  the  Vernon  fortune,  was 
before  them. 

Satisfaction  at  his  discovery  was  obscured 
by  the  profound  surprise  experienced  by 
both  Le  Britta  and  the  doctor,  as  they  mar- 
veled at  the  strange  workings  of  providence 
that  had  brought  the  man  hither,  that  had  led 
them  to  his  side. 

"Dick,  it's  fate  !  "  gasped  Le  Britta. 

"  It  is  a  marvelous  occurrence,"  assented 
the  doctor.  "Evidently,  he  is  little  Edna's 
father.  His  condition  shows  that  he  was 
forced  to  find  shelter,  to  seek  rest  and  nurs- 
ing, or  die." 

"  Is  he  very  ill  ?" 

"  Give  me  time  to  ascertain." 

For  over  an  hour,  Dr.  Richard  Milton 
worked  over  the  invalid.  Finally  he  re- 
turned to  the  larger  room,  where  little  Edna 


26l 

sat,  a  prey  to  vivid  emotions  that  showed 
plainly  on  her  impressionable  face.  Light 
as  was  his  footstep,  she  caught  its  sound  and 
glided  to  his  side. 

"  Is  he  very  ill,  doctor  ? "  she  queried, 
solicitously. 

"  Yes." 

"Will  he  — will  he  — die?" 

"  I  think  not.  We  shall  do  all  we  can  for 
him,  at  least." 

The  doctor  beckoned  to  Le  Britta,  and 
both  went  outside  the  hut. 

'  Well  ?  "  queried  the  latter,  eagerly. 

'  The  final  reaction  has  come,"  announced 
the  doctor. 

"You  mean  ?  " 

"  Collapse." 

"  He  is  conscious." 

"No  —  fever!  I  can  only  theorize  as  to 
how  he  has  passed  the  days  since  his  escape 
from  us.  The  stimulant  phial  has  probably 
kept  up  an  artificial  strength.  He  secured 
the  treasure  —  wandered  here,  and  —  it  will 
be  days,  it  may  be  weeks,  before  he  knows 
another  lucid  moment. 

Le  Britta  looked  anxious. 


262 

"And the  money  —  the  fortune  —  the  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  ?  "  he  began. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"  I  have  taken  the  precaution  of  searching 
him,"  he  said.  "  He  had  not  so  much  as  a 
single  dollar  about  him." 

"  Then  he  must  have  hidden  it  somewhere." 

"It  looks  so." 

"Where,  I  wonder?" 

"  That  we  must  find  out." 

"How?' 

"You  shall  see.  We  must  be  patient  and 
cautious  this  time.  This  man's  secret  is  an 
important  one  to  Gladys  Vernon.  I  must 
return  to  my  patients,  and  you  need  not  neg- 
lect your  business.  Leave  it  all  to  me." 

At  noon  that  day,  the  two  friends  left  for 
home  by  rail. 

Doctor  Milton  had  secured  the  services  of 
a  young  medical  student.  The  latter  was  a 
warm  friend  of  the  doctor,  and  he  intrusted 
him  with  just  sufficient  knowledge  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case,  to  be  sure  he  would 
act  with  promptness  and  fidelity  in  his 
interests. 

He  introduced  the  young  man  at  the  hut 
as  a  nurse  for  the  invalid,  and  little  Edna 


263 

thanked  them  sobbingly  for  the  comforts 
with  which  they  surrounded  herself  and  her 
suffering  father. 

"And  now  we  must  wait  patiently,"  an- 
nounced Doctor  Milton,  as  they  reached 
home. 

"  For  what  ?  "  queried  Le  Britta. 

"  For  word  from  the  man  in  charge  of  the 
tramp." 

"  Concerning  the  treasure  ?  " 

"  Concerning  everything  about  the  tramp 
of  interest  to  us,  yes.  He  will  not  allow  his 
patient  to  escape  again.  As  soon  as  he  re- 
covers or  becomes  conscious,  he  is  to  tele- 
graph for  us." 

Several  days  passed  by  with  only  a  formal 
report  as  to  the  condition  of  the  tramp. 
Toward  the  latter  part  of  the  week,  how- 
ever, Doctor  Milton  received  a  letter,  the 
contents  of  which  excited  him  strangely. 

He  hastened  to  Le  Britta's  studio,  and  was 
soon  closeted  with  the  photographer. 

"News?"  queried  the  latter,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  important  news.     Read  that." 

It  was  a  letter  from  the  young  medical  stu- 
dent. It  detailed  the  course  of  the  tramp's 
fever,  and  it  ended  with  the  words : 


264 

"You  gave  me  just  an  Inkling  of  the  fact 
that  your  main  anxiety  outside  of  the  man's 
recovery,  was  to  learn  where  he  had  hidden 
certain  moneys. 

"This  fact  I  have  not  positively  ascertained, 
but  from  words  spoken  by  the  invalid  I  can 
give  you  a  clue. 

"Years  ago,  he  was  quite  a  successful  busi- 
ness man,  and  had  a  partner.  His  child 
verifies  this. 

"  Of  this  partner  he  has  raved  considera- 
bly, and  I  am  satisfied  that  he  has  recently 
seen  him. 

"  More  than  that,  I  am  satisfied  that  he 
visited  this  man,  and  intrusted  to  him  a 
large  amount  of  money  —  possibly  the  money 
you  are  so  anxious  about.  * 

"  Later,  he  again  visited  him  and  demanded 
his  money  back.  The  man  denied  ever  re- 
ceiving it. 

"This  man  lives  in  the  city.  His  name 
is" — 

Le  Britta  started  incredulously  as  he  read 
the  words  that  followed. 

For  they  constituted  a  name  belonging  to 
one  of  the  greatest  social  lights,  one  of  the 
wealthiest  merchants  of  the  city  where  the 


265 

conclave  had  just  been  held  —  Darius  Mer- 
edith. 
•  A  clue  or  —  a  mistake  !     Which  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

HYPNOTISM. 

"MR.  LE  BRITTA!" 

The  name  was  spoken  amid  a  glare  of 
splendor  and  light.  It  announced  a  guest  in 
the  drawing-room  of  one  of  the  stateliest 
mansions  in  the  city. 

For  a  week  the  photographer  had  planned 
for  this  moment,  which  was  to  mark  the  initial 
step  in  a  new  venture  that  had  for  its  motive 
the  final  securing  of  the  Vernon  treasure. 

Upon  the  receipt  of  that  letter  from  the 
medical  student  in  charge  of  the  tramp,  the 
doctor  and  Le  Britta  had  held  a  long,  serious 
conversation. 

Then  a  hurried  visit  to  the  city  had  ensued, 
a  secret  investigation  into  the  character  of 
Darius  Meredith,  and  then  the  two  friends 
had  arrived  at  a  definite  conclusion. 

From  what  they  could  learn  of  the  tramp's 
past,  and  his  association  with  this  man, 


266 

Meredith,  one  fact  seemed  certain  —  they  had 
once  been  business  partners. 

To  the  world  Meredith  was  an  honored, 
successful  business  man,  in  reality  he  was  a 
thoroughly  bad-hearted  man.  It  made  the 
open-minded  Le  Britta  sick  at  soul,  to  con- 
template so  much  hypocrisy  veiled  by  the 
mask  of  social  eminence. 

Meredith  was  a  gambler,  a  usurer,  a  hard- 
fisted  employer.  Many  a  dishonorable  quirk 
in  his  business  evidenced  his  deceit  and  wick- 
edness, and  the  two  friends  soon  knew  the 
man  they  had  to  handle. 

Of  a  surety,  from  what  they  learned,  the 
tramp,  after  securing  the  treasure,  weak,  sick, 
fearful  of  pursuit,  had  gone  to  the  partner  of 
his  better  days,  and  had  intrusted  to  his 
charge  the  custody  of  the  precious  packet 
that  contained  the  Vernon  treasure. 

Later,  demanding  its  return,  he  had  been 
repulsed,  ejected  from  the  sumptuous  home 
of  Meredith,  and  even  threatened  with  arrest. 

Meredith  certainly  had  the  money.  How 
to  establish  that  fact  beyond  a  legal  doubt, 
and  recover  it,  was  now  the  mission  of  Le 
Britta,  and  it  would  prove  a  delicate  and  a 
difficult  task,  he  felt  sure. 


267 

Finally,  his  plan  was  developed,  however. 
Through  a  letter  from  Doctor  Milton  he 
secured  an  invitation  to  the  home  of  a  lady 
who  was  a  belle  in  city  society,  and  where  he 
knew  Meredith  was  an  honored  guest. 

Upon  the  evening  in  question,  arrayed  in 
full  evening  dress,  his  courtly  bearing  and 
familiarity  with  the  usages  of  good  society 
enabling  him  to  act  his  part  circumspectly, 
Le  Britta  found  himself  in  the  gay  drawing- 
rooms  of  the  fashionable  mansion. 

Its  fair  hostess  greated  him  cordially.  An 
hour  later,  Le  Britta  had  secured  an  intro- 
duction to  Meredith.  Before  the  evening 
had  passed  he  had  succeded  in  winning  the 
complete  good  graces  of  the  man. 

The  next  evening  they  met  again.  Two 
nights  thereafter,  to  the  satisfaction  of 
Le  Britta,  Meredith  invited  him  to  his  home. 

It  was  the  culmination  of  his  hopes.  He 
was  working  slowly,  deftly,  for  a  result. 

As  he  rang  at  the  portals  of  the  stately 
home  of  Darius  Meredith  that  evening,  the 
photographer's  eyes  flashed  confidently  as  he 
murmured  : 

"The  opportunity  has  arrived  !  It  will  be 
a  battle  to  the  finish,  instead  of  an  evening 


268 

call,  Mr.  Darius  Meredith,  and  I  shall  win  ! " 
As  he  spoke  he  fondled  in  his  coat-pocket 
a   tiny  phial   that    Dr.  Richard    Milton    had 
given  him. 

"  That  little  cordial  is  my  resource  !  "  he 
soliloquized.  "  Now  to  test  the  doctor's 
scheme  —  to  learn  what  has  become  of  the 
Vernon  fortune.  An  hour's  interview  with 
Meredith,  that  little  phial  produced,  and  then 
—  hypnotism!"  was  Le  Britta's  remarkable 
conclusion,  as  he  entered  the  stately  home 
of  the  man  he  had  come  to  unmask. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    EXPERIMENT. 

JERA  LE  BRITTA  braced  himself  for  a  con- 
flict, as  he  found  himself  seated  in  the  luxu- 
rious lounging-room  of  Darius  Meredith. 

With  that  keen  mental  prescience  that 
rendered  him  an  accurate  physiognomist,  the 
photographer  read  as  in  a  mirror  the  mind 
of  his  host.  To  outward  semblance  a  thrifty 
business  man,  respectable  and  honest,  from 
what  he  had  learned  and  surmised,  Le  Britta 
was  satisfied  that  he  was  a  black-hearted 
scoundrel  in  reality. 


269 

Furthermore,  he  was  assured  that  he  had 
possession  of  the  Vernon  fortune. 

As  in  a  dream,  Jera  Le  Britta  in  a  flash 
went  over  all  the  details  of  the  strange  case 
that  had  brought  about  the  present  culmina- 
tion. 

Upon  him  devolved  a  sacred  duty  —  the 
righting  of  a  wrong,  the  unmasking  of  vil- 
lainy, the  disentangling  of  a  mighty  web. 

All  his  efforts  tended  to  the  recovery  of 
Gladys  Vernon,  the  finding  of  her  lover, 
Sydney  Vance,  the  conviction  of  the  real 
murderer,  Ralph  Durand,  the  securing  of  the 
vast  fortune  hidden  by  the  dead  Vernon, 
found  by  the  dead  or  dying  tramp,  now 
held  as  lawful  booty  by  the  unprincipled 
schemer  before  him. 

For  days  Le  Britta  had  studied  the  char- 
acter of  Darius  Meredith.  He  had  slowly 
acquired  information  regarding  him.  He  had 
simmered  him  down  as  a  glib,  smooth 
schemer,  as  a  bold,  defiant  enemy.  No 
amount  of  pleading  would  ever  wrest  money 
from  this  unscrupulous  villain.  It  must  be 
aggressive,  yet  secret  cunning  that  would 
win  the  victory  ! 

So   firmly   resolved  to   bring   affairs  to  a 


270 

speedy  issue,  determined  to  make  a  final  ef- 
fort to  cause  the  wealthy  thief  to  disgorge 
his  ill-gotten  gains,  Le  Britta  summed  up  his 
mysterious  designs  in  that  single  expressive, 
and  yet  ominous  word, 

"  Hypnotism  !  " 

The  photographer  was  no  superstitious  be- 
liever in  the  occult  sciences  —  clairvoyance, 
second  sight,  and  the  like.  In  the  mysteries 
of  magnetism,  mind-reading  and  mesmerism, 
however,  he  had  witnessed  many  peculiar 
experiments. 

He  knew  that  a  strong  will  could  dominate 
a  weaker  one,  that  the  glittering  eye  of  a 
serpent  has  power  to  magnetize  the  bird,  just 
as  the  diamond  in  the  hands  of  the  hypnotist 
allures  the  sight  of  the  subject  until  visual 
concentration  fades  into  a  glamour  of  the 
senses.  He  knew,  also,  that  when  a  person 
is  mesmerized  he  is  under  the  direction  of 
the  operator. 

In  his  pocket  Le  Britta  carried  a  little  phial. 
It  was  to  be  an  agent  in  the  execution  of  his 
project  in  case  his  first  resource  failed.  It 
contained  a  volatile  preparation  having  the 
same  properties  as  ether.  Once  adminis- 
tered, it  stimulated  the  senses,  yet  befogged 


271 

the  judgment.  It  unloosed  the  tongue,  it  sent 
the  natural  secretive  instincts  rioting,  and 
developed  the  true  hidden  nature  of  the  vic- 
tim. Thus,  under  its  influence,  a  miser  would 
babble  of  his  gold,  a  gambler  would  imagine 
he  was  playing  for  a  stake  of  millions,  a  mus- 
ical person  would  sing,  and  a  solemn  individ- 
ual would  weep. 

Le  Britta  had  determined  to  learn  what 
had  become  of  the  missing  Vernon  fortune. 
This  man,  Darius  Meredith,  had  received  it 
from  the  tramp,  undoubtedly,  and  had  misap- 
propriated it.  It  was,  furthermore,  probable 
that,  having  driven  the  tramp  away  and  de- 
nied ever  having  received  the  money,  he 
would  not  convert  it  immediately  to  his  own 
use  for  fear  a  later  investigation  might  trace 
it.  He  possibly  had  it  hidden  somewhere, 
and,  acting  upon  this  conjecture,  Le  Britta 
prepared  himself  to  find  out  where. 

Meredith  received  him  cordially.  He  was 
a  shrewd  man.  While  Le  Britta  was  culti- 
vating his  friendship  diligently  so  as  to  win 
his  confidence,  the  scheming  wolf  in  sheep's 
clothing  fancied  he  was  getting  in  his  clutches 
a  new  victim  to  pluck.  Le  Britta  seemed  to 
have  plenty  of  money,  he  had  acted  the  inno- 


272 

cent,  inexperienced  and  inoffensive  society 
idler  to  perfection.  Meredith  had  invited 
him  to  his  house  to  treat  him  well,  to  profess 
great  friendship  for  him,  and  later,  to  lead  him 
into  gambling,  when  he  would  fleece  him  of 
all  his  available  cash. 

Le  Britta  found  preparations  for  a  pleasant 
evening  in  the  cozy  library.  The  shades 
were  drawn,  the  gas  brilliantly  lighted,  and 
wine,  cigars  and  cards  were  near  at  hand. 
He  never  smoked,  drank  nor  gambled,  but, 
even  at  the  risk  of  slight  nausea,  he  took  a 
few  puffs  at  a  havana,  his  mental  excuse 
being  the  exigencies  of  the  occasion,  and 
was  soon  engaged  in  a  brisk  conversation 
with  his  host. 

The  latter  discussed  business,  society  and 
politics.  Then  he  began  descanting  on  the 
rare  good  fortune  attending  some  of  his  re- 
cent speculations.  Then  he  drifted  to  cards. 

"A  quiet  game,  once  in  awhile,  is  a  relax- 
ation," remarked  Meredith.  "  A  small  stake 
makes  it  still  more  interesting.  I  had  quite  a 
run  of  luck  with  the  governor's  adjutant  a  few 
evenings  since.  Won  enough  to  invest  in  a 
new  diamond  pin.  Am  having  it  reset  now. 
By  the  way,  Le  Britta,  suppose  we  have  ? 


273 
round  at  poker,  just  to  while  the  time  away." 

Le  Britta  ascertained  that  the  conversation 
had  reached  a  critical  point.  He  never 
played  cards,  in  fact,  he  was  ignorant  of  the 
details  of  any  game  of  chance.  If  he  con- 
fessed this  Meredith  would  probably  shorten 
the  interview  peremptorily  and  defeat  his  in- 
tentions. On  the  other  hand,  if  he  feigned 
to  play,  Meredith  would  win  his  money,  and 
Le  Britta  could  scarcely  afford  to  lose  any- 
thing, even  in  pursuit  of  a  cherished  purpose. 

"I'll  try  my  experiment,"  he  murmured, 
decisively.  "  Now  or  never!  " 

Meredith  had  arisen  to  secure  a  card-case 
from  the  side-board.  His  half-filled  glass  of 
wine  on  the  table  stood  temptingly  near  to 
Le  Britta. 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  latter  drew  the  tiny  phial 
from  his  pocket.  Deftly  he  uncorked  it. 
With  a  rapid  movement  he  reached  over  and 
reversed  the  little  bottle.  Only  a  part  of  its 
contents  fell  into  the  wine  glass,  but  he  felt 
sure  there  was  sufficient  to  affect  his  intended 
victim. 

Meredith  resumed  his  seat,  all  unconscious 
of  this  little  side-play.  He  began  shuffling 
the  cards. 

18 


274 

"  Oh  !  by  the  way,"  remarked  Le  Britta. 
"You  were  speaking  of  diamonds." 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  ever  notice  this  ring  I  wear  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  the  photographer  showed  a 
small  but  exquisitely  chiseled  diamond  on  a 
finger  of  his  left  hand. 

"  No  ;  not  particularly." 

To  Le  Britta's  satisfaction,  as  Meredith 
turned  his  eyes  upon  the  circlet  in  question, 
he  mechanically  raised  the  wine-glass  to  his 
lips  and  drained  its  contents. 

He  started  slightly  with  a  quick  grimace, 
and  seemed  to  detect  the  peculiar  flavor  of 
the  liquor,  but  Le  Britta  hastened  to  divert 
his  attention  from  the  drugged  wine  by  re- 
moving his  finger-ring.  He  held  the  gleam- 
ing gem  in  the  full  radiance  of  the  light,  and 
said  : 

"  Just  keep  your  eyes  fixed  on  the  diamond, 
Mr.  Meredith,  and  observe  how  peculiarly  the 
facets  reflect  the  light." 

Now,  this  was  a  ruse.  Understanding  the 
modus  operandi  of  hypnotism,  Le  Britta 
was  proceeding  in  a  line  with  the  system 
adopted  by  its  most  skillful  exponents.  They 
fascinate  a  subject's  gaze  first,  and  then  cen- 


275 

tralizing  all  their  mesmeric  strength  en- 
deavor to  force  the  subject  into  hypnotic 
sleep. 

Le  Britta  brought  all  the  energy  of  his  will 
to  subjugate  Meredith.  He  was  disappointed 
at  the  result,  however,  for  Meredith  puffed 
coolly  at  his  cigar,  and  there  was  not  a  par- 
ticle of  evidence  in  the  hard,  evil  face  that  he 
was  affected  by  either  the  drug  or  the  mes- 
meric efforts  of  his  guest. 

Suddenly,  about  to  turn  his  eyes  away 
from  the  diamond  with  some  indifferent  re- 
mark as  to  its  beauty,  Meredith  started. 

Caused  by  some  sudden  dizzying  effect  of 
the  medicine,  an  observation  of  Le  Britta's 
steady  glance  or  a  latent  taste  of  the  drugged 
liquor  in  his  mouth,  Meredith  shot  a  pene- 
trating look  at  his  companion. 

Le  Britta,  engrossed  in  hypnotizing  him, 
did  not  observe  the  suspicious  movement. 
Meredith  veiled  his  glance  with  a  grim  ex- 
pression. Then,  noticing  the  spot  on  the 
table,  where  half  the  contents  of  the  phial 
had  been  spilled,  his  lips  became  compressed. 

He  fixed  his  eyes  again  on  the  diamond 
ring  extended  by  Le  Britta,  the  cigar  dropped 


276 

to  the  table,  he  drew  back,  and  then  —  his 
eyes  began  to  close. 

A  quick  flush  of  delight  sprung  to  Le 
Britta's  cheek.  Not  for  a  moment  did  he 
doubt  but  that  the  combined  mesmeric  influ- 
ence and  the  drug  had  conduced  to  bring  his 
companion  under  his  influence  completely. 

"  Success  !  "  he  breathed,  fervently.  "  My 
man  is  hypnotized  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

DUPED ! 

"  AND  now  for  his  secret !  " 

Le  Britta  arose  cautiously  and  approached 
Meredith,  who  had  sank  back  in  his  chair 
until  his  body  had  assumed  a  half-recumbent 
position.  He  imitated  professional  hypnot- 
ists, by  making  several  passes  before  the 
subject ;  then  he  stroked  his  eyes  ;  they 
opened. 

The  unsuspicious  photographer  was  satis- 
fied that  his  experiment  had  succeeded  in 
every  particular.  Meredith  was  certainly  in 
a  mesmeric  trance.  His  appearance  indi- 
cated the  fact  plainly.  Le  Britta  kept  his 


277 

eye  fixed  upon  him  in  silence  for  a  moment 
or  two.  Then  he  directed,  in  a  low,  steady 
tone  of  voice  : 

'Turn  that  wine  glass  upside  down." 

Meredith  put  forth  his  hand  and  obeyed. 

"  Arise  to  your  feet." 

Meredith  struggled  to  an  erect  position, 
steadying  himself  on  the  back  of  the  chair. 

"Will  you  answer  me  some  questions?" 
was  the  next  query. 

"Yes." 

"  You  know  a  man  named  Dave  Wharton, 
a  tramp  ? " 

"I  do." 

"  He  was  your  former  business  partner  ?  " 

Meredith  swayed  slightly,  and  he  hesitated 
a  moment  or  two  before  replying.  His  eyes 
were  rather  clear  and  intelligent  for  a  person 
under  mesmeric  spell,  but  he  finally  said  : 

"  Yes,  he  was." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  lately  ?" 

No  reply. 

"  Did  he  not  come  to  you  a  little  over  a 
week  ago  ? " 

Stubborn  silence. 

"Answer!"  ordered  Le  Britta. 

"  He  may  have  done  so." 


278 

"  And  brought  a  package  of  money  ?  It 
was  intrusted  to  your  keeping.  He  returned 
for  it.  You  denied  having  it.  Speak  !  " 

"Ah!" 

Meredith  uttered  the  ejaculation  with  en- 
ergy. His  eyes  dilated. 

"  That  package  you  must  give  to  me.  Do 
you  understand?" 

It  seemed  as  if  Meredith  was  about  to 
spring  upon  Le  Britta.  His  eyes  glared,  his 
fingers  worked  nervously.  Then,  of  a  sud- 
den, his  face  resumed  its  vacant  expression, 
and  he  murmured. 

"You  want  it?" 

"  I  must  have  it  !  "  rejoined  Le  Britta, 
firmly.  *"  It  is  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  Probably." 

"  In  this  room  ?" 

"No." 

"  Where,  then  ?  " 

"Shall  I  lead  you  to  it?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Come  !  " 

Meredith  started  for  the  door,  Le  Britta 
followed  him.  In  the  hall,  he  took  up  a 
lighted  lamp.  Down  a  corridor  he  proceed- 
ed, stopped  at  a  door,  took  a  key  from  his 


279 

pocket,  unlocked  it,  and,  entering  the  apart- 
ment, placed  the  lamp  on  a  little  table  in  the 
center  of  the  room. 

Le  Britta  gazed  curiously  about  the  apart- 
ment. It  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  study  or 
business  room,  for  it  had  a  desk,  and,  sunk 
in  the  wall  of  one  side,  a  huge  iron  door 
resembling  that  of  a  bank  vault.  This  door 
had  the  conventional  combination  lock  and 
knob. 

Meredith  swayed  dreamily.  He  really  ap- 
peared like  a  man  under  the  combined 
influent  of  narcotics  and  mesmeric  force. 

"Is  it  here  that  I  shall  find  the  package 
belonging  to  the  tramp  ?  "  queried  Le  Britta, 
sharply. 

The  other  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Where?" 

Meredith  pointed  to  the  vault  door. 

11  It  is  in  there  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Le  Britta  sprang  to  the  door,  but  found  it 
secured. 

"Can  you  open  it?"  he  queried,  eagerly. 

"  I  can." 

"  Do  so." 

Meredith  approached  the  door,  set  the  dial 


280 

against  the  indented  disc  figures,  swirled  it 
once  or  twice,  and  the  door  swung  back. 

Shelves  and  cases  showed  within,  crammed 
full  of  papers. 

"Go  and  get  the  package,"  ordered  Le 
Britta. 

Meredith  took  a  step  forward.  Then  he 
reeled,  recoiled,  and  sank  to  a  chair. 

His  head  fell  upon  his  breast.  Le  Britta, 
alarmed  at  a  fear  of  failure  in  his  mission 
when  so  vitally  near  to  apparent  success, 
seized  his  arm  roughly. 

"Arouse  yourself,  I  order  you  ;  "  he  spoke, 
hurriedly  and  with  force. 

Meredith  only  mumbled  a  few  incoherent 
words. 

"  Get  the  package  !  " 
.  "No!" 

"You  must!" 

"  I  cannot.      You  get  it." 

"  The  drug  has  dulled  the  mesmeric  intelli- 
gence," murmured  Le  Britta,  apprehensively. 
"Come,  Meredith  !  You  tell  me  to  get  the 
package  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  In  the  vault." 


28l 

"Where?" 

"  Left  hand  cabinet.     Lower  drawer." 

With  an  exultant  cry,  Le  Britta  sprang 
into  the  vault. 

The  light  from  the  outer  room  illumined 
its  dark  corners  sufficiently  to  show  the  cab- 
inet described. 

Toward  this  the  photographer  advanced, 
his  heart  beating  high  with  hope. 

Sudden  darkness  supervened.  Suddenly, 
too,  horror  sent  his  blood  curdling  in  every 
vein. 

He  dimly  saw  Meredith,  his  face  wreathed 
with  cunning  triumph,  spring  to  the  door. 
There  was  a  crash  and  a  mocking,  exultant 
laugh. 

Then  — 

Announcing  defeat,  peril,  deep,  decisive, 
unmasking  the  clever  rogue  who  had  pene- 
trated his  designs  and  led  him  into  a  trap,  a 
resounding  echo  told  Le  Britta  that  he  was 
caged,  in  the  toils  of  a  shrewder  man  than 
himself. 


282 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
A  DARK  NIGHT'S  WORK. 

THE  hypocritical  scoundrel  who  posed 
before  the  community  as  a  business  man  of 
probity  and  enterprise,  and  yet  who  was  at 
heart  a  conscienceless  villain,  Darius  Mere- 
dith, uttered  a  chuckling  cry  of  satisfaction. 

The  ponderous  iron  door  was  shut  with  a 
crash.  In  a  second  more,  click-clicketty- 
clack !  went  the  tumblers  shut  into  their 
lock. 

"Caged!"  muttered  Meredith.  "I  sus- 
pected his  game.  The  drug  and  his  looks 
betrayed  him.  I  decoyed  him  here.  Aye  ! 
yell  my  friend,  you'll  bide  my  will,  now." 

Meredith  sat  down  at  the  table,  a  muffled 
sound  echoed  from  behind  the  iron  door,  but 
he  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  it. 

"  I've  got  him  safe,"  he  reflected.  "  Now 
to  think  out  this  complication.  What  does 
it  mean  ?  Who  is  this  man  ?  A  detective 
in  disguise  ?  Scarcely,  for  his  credentials 
come  too  straight.  Yet  he  has  shadowed 
me  —  has  purposely  cultivated  my  acquaint- 
ance. He  knows  my  former  business  part- 


283 

ner,  the  tramp  —  he  knows  that  the  package 
was  intrusted  to  my  keeping.  How  ?  Has 
Wharton  told  him  ?  How  far  can  they  prove 
my  possession  of  that  money  ?  I  must  think 
out  this  unexpected  complication.  I  am  fore- 
warned. How  much  does  this  fellow  Le 
Britta  know  ?  " 

For  fully  ten  minutes  the  plotter  medi- 
tated, his  sinister  brows  bent  in  a  thoughtful 
scowl. 

"  I  have  it !  "  he  cried  at  last,  arising  sud- 
denly to  his  feet.  "I  will  release  Le  Britta, 
but  at  the  point  of  a  revolver.  He  will  be 
weak,  inert,  passive  from  imprisonment  in 
that  close  vault.  I  will  force  him  to  tell  me 
all  he  knows.  Ah  !  what  is  that  ?  " 

At  a  window  something  seemed  to  tap  - 
to  fade  in  the  outer  darkness  as  he  glanced 
thither,  startled. 

He  ran  to  it,  peered  anxiously  out,  and 
then  drew  the  shade  closer,  with  the  careless 
remark : 

"  The  wind  blowing  a  branch  of  the  oak 
against  the  panes." 

Then   he  took  out  a  revolver.     Approach- 
ing .the  vault,  the  weapon  in  his  hand,  he  un 
locked  its  door. 


284 

"  Come  out  !  "  he  ordered. 

There  was  no  answer. 

He  threw  the  door  wide  open. 

"  Come  out,  I  say  !  "  he  repeated,  loudly, 
"  only,  I  am  armed,  and  will  shoot  if  you  at- 
tempt to  escape  from  this  room.  Hello  !  " 

The  revolver  went  clanging  to  the  floor. 
Aghast,  the  plotter  stood,  rooted  to  the  spot, 
in  dismay  and  horror. 

Across  the  stone  floor  of  the  vault  lay  a 
prostrate  form  —  Le  Britta. 

The  air-tight  compartment  had  done  its 
deadly  work.  Its  victim  lay  motionless. 

Meredith  at  last  stooped  over  and  turned 
the  face  of  the  prostrate  man  toward  the 
light.  Its  pallor  terrified  him. 

He  examined  the  heart.  No  pulsation 
there. 

"  Mercy  ! "    he    gasped,   tottering    like   a 
drunken  man.     "I  have  killed  him.     Itis- 
murder  /" 

His  face  was  the  color  of  ashes,  his  nerve- 
less hands  began  to  tremble. 

What  should  he  do  ?  Here  was  crime. 
Here  was  peril.  He  shuddered  as  the  grue- 
some shadows  about  him  seemed  to  frame 


the  somber  outlines  of  a  prison  cell,  the  felon's 
dock,  the  scaffold  ! 

Then  fright,  deadly  fear,  impelled  him  to 
sudden,  frantic  action. 

He  dashed  from  the  room,  out  into  the 
yard,  into  the  stables.  He  hitched  up  a  fast 
horse  to  a  close  buggy.  Then  back  he  sped 
to  the  vault  apartment. 

His  victim  lay  as  he  had  left  him.  He 
seized  him  in  his  arms,  bore  him  down  a  dark 
corridor,  out  into  the  garden,  through  the 
stable,  and,  placing  the  limp  form  in  the 
bottom  of  the  buggy,  covered  it  with  a  horse- 
blanket. 

In  five  minutes  he  was  traversing  an  un- 
frequented road  leading  to  the  suburbs.  In 
half  an  hour  he  was  in  the  open  country. 

Once  he  halted  the  horse  on  a  rustic  bridge, 
and  seemed  about  the  lift  the  body  of  his 
victim  and  destroy  all  trace  of  his  crime  by 
casting  it  over  the  rail  to  the  raging  stream 
below. 

The  approach  of  a  pedestrian  sent  him 
speeding  on,  however.  For  miles  he  traveled 
a  cheerless  highway. 

Finally  he  made  out  a  dismantled  structure 
standing  back  from  the  road.  It  was  a  place 


286 

familiar  to  him,  a  residence  some  years  since 
devastated  by  fire.  . 

"Just  the  place!"  he  ejaculated.  "No 
one  goes  there.  I'll  hide  the  body  in  the 
cellar.  It  will  never  be  discovered." 

He  entered  the  house,  staggering  under 
his  burden.  He  reappeared  bearing  the 
blanket,  glancing  apprehensively  back  ever 
and  anon,  and  hurrying  on  the  jaded  steed 
once  again  in  the  vehicle. 

"  That  disposes  of  him,"  he  muttered.  "  I 
did  not  mean  to  kill  him.  He  brought  it  on 
himself.  No  one  will  ever  know.  What  a 
dolt !  I  forgot  to  lock  up  the  vault.  Should 
a  burglar  enter  the  house  and  find  his  way  to 
that  room  he  might  beggar  me." 

Utterly  heartless,  Darius  Meredith  grew 
almost  cheerful  as  he  neared  home  again. 
A  dangerous  enemy  had  been  removed  from 
his  path.  The  low-souled  scoundrel  actually 
congratulated  himself  on  his  dark  night's 
work. 

He  entered  the  house  and  hastened  to  the 
apartment  where  Jera  Le  Britta  had  battled 
fate  and  had  been  defeated. 

The  lamp  still  burned  on  the  table.  The 
vault  door  was  still  open. 


287 

Entering  the  vault,  Meredith  examined  its 
interior. 

"All  safe!"  he  muttered,  "and  the  pack- 

it 
age    

He  sought  to  make  sure  of  it  by  pulling 
open  a  drawer  and  gazing  into  it. 

An  awful  cry  escaped  his  lips  as  he  did  so. 

"  Empty  —  gone  !  "  he  gasped.  "  Robbed! 
The  money" 

Was  not  there  !  He  reeled  into  the  outer 
room.  Almost  fainting,  he  felt  a  cold  breath 
of  air  revive  his  tottering  sensibilities. 

With  a  wild  cry  he  observed  that  a  win- 
dow was  open. 

And  then  the  truth  paralyzed  mind  and 
heart,  as  it  flashed  across  him  with  the  in- 
tensity of  a  lightning  shock. 

During  his  absence  some  one  had  opened 
a  window,  and,  entering  the  apartment,  had 
stolen  the  treasured  package  ! 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it,  and  the 
plotter's  heart  stood  still  as  he  asked  himself 
the  question  : 

Had  this  mysterious  person,  as  well,  wit- 
nessed the  crime  that,  proven,  would  send 
him  to  the  gallows? 


288 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

THE    BORDERLAND. 

THERE  is  no  agent  of  death  more  potent 
and  yet  deceptive  in  its  effects  than  that 
which  induces  dissolution  by  means  of  suffo- 
^ation. 

In  drowning,  and  the  results  of  smothering 
gases,  no  trace  of  violence  exists.  There  is 
a  certain  painless  fading  into  insensibility, 
and  a  suspension  of  the  natural  forces  of  the 
frame  that  is  marked  and  alarming,  even  be- 
fore death  arrives. 

The  shock  to  the  system  clogs  the  circula- 
tion, deadens  the  brain,  chokes  the  lungs. 
It  is  intense,  and  often,  even  where  the  victim 
has  not  absolutely  reached  the  danger  point, 
there  seems  to  be  an  absolute  cessation  of 
vitality. 

The  superficial  examination  of  his  victim 
made  by  Meredith  after  discovering  Le 
Britta's  insensibility  in  the  vault,  tended  to 
satisfy  him  that  the  photograher  was  dead. 
He  could  detect  no  pulse  or  respiration, 
while  the  bloodless  lips  and  leaden  eyelids 


289 

added  a  ghastly  aspect  to  the  face  of  his 
decoyed  guest. 

During  that  long  drive  into  the  country, 
Le  Britta  did  not  betoken  one  sign  of  return- 
ing consciousness,  and  when  he  was  lifted 
from  the  buggy  and  carried  into  the  old  dis- 
mantled building,  he  lay  as  inert  a  burden  as 
ever  in  the  arms  of  his  seeming  assassin. 

Jera  Le  Britta  was  not  dead,  however. 
That  trance-like  coma,  that  semblance  of  dis- 
solution was  but  the  lingering  deadening 
effect  of  the  blighted,  mephitic  atmosphere  of 
the  close  vault. 

Five  minutes  more  confinement  in  that 
sealed  safe  would  have  resulted  fatally,  but 
as  it  was  the  precipitation  of  the  murderous 
schemer  saved  the  photographer's  life,  for 
the  quick  rush  to  the  open  air  relieved  the 
poison-charged  arteries,  and  the  lingering 
inertia  of  body  and  mind  was  simply  the 
deadening  after-effects  of  the  suffocation. 

Not  a  muscle,  however,  had  Le  Britta 
moved  during  that  eventful  ride,  not  a 
muscle  moved  as  he  was  carried  into  the 
damp,  gruesome  cellar  of  the  isolated  build- 
ing. 

But  what  air,  jolting  and  time  had  failed  to 


'. 


2  QO 

effect,  another  potent  element  of  nature  con- 
summated. 

When  Meredith  placed  his  supposedly 
dead  charge  upon  the  cold,  clayey  floor  of 
the  cellar,  he  dropped  him  directly  across  a 
pool  of  water. 

Haunted  with  dread  for  the  results  of  his 
terrible  deed,  and  frightened  by  phantoms 
conjured  by  his  craven  mind  in  that  dark  cel- 
lar-way, the  miscreant  allowed  Le  Britta  to 
slip  roughly  to  the  floor,  and  fled  precipi- 
tately. 

With  a  slight  splash,  the  photographer's 
head  dipped  into  a  depression  in  the  soft 
earth,  filled  with  water.  The  cooling  liquid 
laved  the  base  of  his  brain,  and  lapped  cheek 
and  brow. 

There  was  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  a  spas- 
modic flutter  of  the  nerves,  and  then,  like  a 
man  chained  but  gradually  coming  back  to 
life  from  a  dense  swoon,  the  photographer 
opened  his  eyes. 

Here  and  there,  through  breaks  in  the  wall 
and  from  sashless  apertures,  the  faint  light 
of  the  night  permeated  the  place.  He  could 
feel  the  chill,  the  discomfort;  he  could  dis- 
cern that  he  was  in  some  unfamiliar  spot,  and 


29 1 

yet  the  last  hideous  battle  for  life  against  the 
invisible  forces  of  nature  in  that  ponderous 
iron  vault  were  so  strongly  present  in  his 
mind  that,  with  a  shock  and  a  groan,  he 
closed  his  eyes  again,  believing  himself  still 
to  be  a  prisoner  in  the  home  of  the  plotter, 
Meredith. 

These  are  the  strange,  uncanny  hours  of 
existence,  these  moments  when  a  person  finds 
himself  face  to  face  with  the  untried,  the  un- 
known, the  dim,  the  vague,  the  mysterious. 
It  is  then  that  the  senses  recoil  alarmed;  it  is 
then  that  the  soul,  forced  alone  to  battle  with 
what  the  mind  cannot  grasp  and  comprehend, 
is  revealed  in  its  strong  intensity,  and  man 
knows  that  the  essence  of  immortality  within 
him  has  a  vivid  existence  and  is  a  strong 
reality. 

So  Le  Britta,  at  that  moment  still  thinking 
that  the  strong  iron  walls  of  the  vault  en- 
closed him,  that  he  was  yet  a  doomed  pris- 
oner of  villainy,  awakening  to  a  last  final 
gasp  of  ebbing  vitality,  saw  the  world  fade, 
forgot  momentarily  its  cares  and  its  pleasures 
alike,  and  faced  the  inevitable,  dreamily  yet 
tangibly. 

All  the  good,  all  the  bad  his  life  had  known 


flashed  across  him  mentally.  The  shudder- 
ing fear  of  death  was  robbed  of  its  sting. 
What  was  a  sharp  pain,  a  choking  moan,  a 
last  throe  of  the  overwrought  nerves  ?  But 
the  soul! 

In  that  moment  there  came  to  Le  Britta 
what  comes  to  every  good  man  when  the  final 
moment  dawns,  be  it  slow  or  sudden,  an- 
nounced by  lingering  illness  or  speedily  as  a 
lightning's  flash — peace;  rare,  calm,  ineffa- 
ble peace. 

And  joy !  It  was  hard  to  leave  a  busy, 
bustling,  happy  life,  with  all  its  brisk,  enticing 
changes  ;  it  was  hard  to  leave  loved  ones,  to 
close  human  eyes  on  a  human  world,  radiant 
with  beauty,  flowers,  bird-song  and  sunshine; 
but  the  glamour  of  a  glimpse  into  the  portals 
of  another  life  —  a  sudden,  certain  compre- 
hension of  the  heaven  that  lay  beyond  the 
borderland,  enwrapt  soul  and  sense  in  a 
delirium  of  joy. 

Here  was  the  Promised  Land  —  here 
was  the  pledge  old  as  the  world,  and 
sacred  as  only  the  word  of  divinity  can  be, 
that  death  had  no  sting,  and  the  grave  was 
robbed  of  victory,  and  life,  real,  final  life,  was 
vouchsafed  to  the  man  who  had  tried  to  do  his 


293 

duty  because  he  loved  humanity   better  than 
his  own  safety  ! 

And  then,  as  if  spoken  by  cherubic  lips, 
as  if  two  souls  were  wandering  through 
space,  one  asking  "Whither?"  in  the  dim 
confusion  of  recent  departure  from  earthly 
realms,  the  other  questioning  "Whence?" 
and  the  reply  coming  :  "  I  do  not  know.  I 
only  died  last  night !  "  there  floated  on  the 
air  in  fancy,  a  form,  soul-born,  a  flash  of 
words  to  which  the  senses  listened  as  to  a 
beautiful  strain  of  music  : 

I  lay  with  dying  breath  — 

My  wan,  worn  hands  in  groping  blindness  beat  against  a  wall 

Echoless,  perpetual,  pitiless  and  grim, 

That  seemed  to  close  the  weary  round  of  life, 

And  showed  no  token  of  a  void  or  break. 

And  then  —  a  smothering  heart,  a  last  swift  breath, 

And  I  was  dead,  and  something  rushed  apace, 

And  I  was  free  ;  but,  lo  !  through  later  eye*, 

And  newer  vision,  robbed  of  earthly  bonds, 

No  wall  was  there  ! 

Only  the  summer  skies,  the  waking  hum 

Of  insect-haunted  air  in  myriad  life, 

And  budding,  bubbling  germs  that  sang  and  swayed, 

And  perfume  centers  freighted  rich. 

Yet,  mingling  with  the  soul  of  sound  and  sense. 

All  this,  and  more  !  and  I,  a  formless  thing, 

Floated  and  swayed,  and  rose  in  dreamy  joy.  / 

Then,  upward  through  the  vapor  and  the  blue, 
Way  up  past  clouds,  and  moon  and  stars  ! 
A  thrill  of  glory,  dazzling  realms  of  gold, 


294 

A  sense  of  joy,  half-rising,  half  sunk  down, 
The  something  vaulting  pinion-poised  aloft ! 
The  thinking  swirling  back  with  eyes  despaired.' 

And  then  — 

I  could  not  see  myself,  myself  was  lost, 

Divided,  overwhelmed,  confused,  for  I 

Was  here,  and  yet  was  there,  was  lost,  was  found, 

And  that  which  of  the  earth  had  gained  its  life 

Back  to  the  earth's  warm  rest  sank  swift, 

To  long  and  waver  through  a  night  of  years, 

And  dissipate  and  resurrect  in  myriad  forms. 

But  the  immortal  part,  shorn  of  its  bonds, 

Had  soared  to  new  identity,  forgetfulness  and  heaven. 

A  soul  untrammeled,  blest  with  spiritual  eyes, 

A  soul  beyond  the  gates,  new-born,  complete! 

Le  Britta  sighed.  So  near  to  the  seeming 
portals  of  death,  so  blest  by  radiant  pictures 
of  the  future,  so  full  of  faith  that  those  he 
loved  would  be  cared  for  by  divine  mercy, 
he  seemed  to  knock  at  the  gates  of  heaven, 
and  long  to  be  let  in  upon  the  flawless  fields 
of  paradise. 

"  Good-by,  old  world !  I  have  tried  to  do 
right." 

A  last  murmur,  a  last  settling  back  to  dis- 
solution, and  then  — 

A  harsh,  discordant  whistle,  sharp,  shrill, 
nerve-disturbing. 

It  pierced  the  solemn  silence  like  the  note 
of  a  bird  of  prey  in  a  garden  of  loveliness. 


295 

Rudely  shocked,  vividly  disturbed,  Jera  Le 
Britta  opened  his  eyes,  and  glaring  into  the 
darkness  and  gloom,  listened  intently. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

A    NEW   TRAIL. 

BACK  to  life  in  a  flash,  back  to  reality,  to 
the  earth-earthy,  but  with  an  experience  that 
would  impress  his  mind  till  his  dying  day, 
the  startled  Jera  Le  Britta  was  roughly  sum- 
moned. 

With  clearer  senses,  on  the  alert,  he  could 
readily  discern  now  that  he  was  not  in  the 
vault  at  Meredith's  house. 

No,  there  was  a  damp  cellar-way,  and  some 
one  was  approaching,  the  whistle  announced 
it,  the  reflection  of  the  rays  of  a  lantern  in 
some  compartment  near  by  plainly  indicated 
it. 

To  a  man  who  had  given  up  his  life  as  lost, 
and  had  bidden  farewell  to  the  world,  the  re- 
vulsion of  an  unexpected  recall  to  earthly 
existence  acted  as  a  decided  shock. 

Each  moment  the  photographer's  senses 
cleared.  A  thought  of  duty  at  hand.  Tasks 
uncompleted  flashed  across  his  mind,  ajjd  he 


296 

took  up  the  armor  anew  of  perseverance  and 
faith  without  a  murmur. 

Meredith!  What  a  villain — what  depths 
of  evil  in  his  cruel  nature  !  The  stolen  treas- 
ure !  Why,  as  never  before,  the  issues  of 
fate  trembled  in  a  perilous,  uncertain  balance. 

"  This  is  some  cellar,  the  cellar  of  the  house 
where  Meredith  lives,"  cogitated  Le  Britta. 
"  Scarcely,  for  it  looks  disused  and  dis- 
mantled. Where  then  ?  " 

That  mysterious  whistle  was  repeated,  and 
around  a  corner  of  a  stone  partition  the  rays 
..of  the  lantern  again  glinted  across  the  slimy, 
damp  foundations. 

There  was  something  sinister  in  that  whistle, 
and  a  thought  of  Meredith  caused  Le  Britta 
to  hesitate  as  the  impulse  came  to  cry  out. 

He  was  glad  that  he  checked  it,  for  just 
then,  as  if  in  response  to  the  first  whistle,  a 
second  one  echoed,  and  then  a  gruff  voice 
exclaimed : 

"  Ah  !  you've  come  at  last,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  on  time,  ain't  I  ?  " 

There  was  the  click  of  a  watch-case  and 
the  reply  : 

"  Scarcely.  The  appointment  was  for  mid- 
night, and  it  barely  lacks  an  hour  of  it." 


"  Well,  ain't  that  time  enough  ?  ' 

"If  we  hurry." 

"  Come  on,  then." 

"  I've  got  a  boat." 

"  Then  we  can  row  to  the  Point." 

'  Yes.  Durand  must  have  some  mighty 
mysterious  scheme  on  hand  to  go  through 
all  this  secrecy  and  trouble." 

"  Durand  !  "  gasped  Le  Britta. 

That  name  acted  upon  him  like  a  shock. 
He  sat  up  abruptly  ;  he  surprised  away  all 
the  lingering  weakness  of  the  moment  by 
struggling  to  his  feet. 

Durand  !  Following  up  one  branch  of  the 
case,  he  had  accidentally  stumbled  across 
another,  and  both  dovetailed. 

These  men  had  spoken  Durand's  name ; 
more  than  that,  they  referred  to  some  mys- 
terious mission  for  which  he  had  engaged 
them  —  a  midnight  task,  a  sinister  errand 
well  in  accordance  with  the  usual  evil 
methods  of  procedure  of  the  villain  who 
held  the  key  to  all  the  mysteries  and 
counterplots  that  had  grown  from  Le  Brit- 
ta's  championship  of  the  cause  of  beautiful, 
persecuted  Gladys  Vernon. 

Arranging  mentally  the  case  as  it  stood, 


298 

the  photographer  realized  that  here  was  a 
new  diverging  path  in  the  case  to  follow, 
which  might  bring  about  great  results. 

The  footsteps  of  the  two  men  retreated, 
and  the  light  from  the  lantern  disappeared. 

Le  Britta  started  cautiously  after  them. 
At  first,  his  progress  was  dizzy-headed  and 
uncertain,  but,  once  in  the  open  air,  his  senses 
revived. 

"  They  are  going  toward  the  river,"  re- 
flected Le  Britta.  "  They  have  a  boat,  and 
they  meditate  about  an  hour's  row.  How 
shall  I  keep  trace  of  them  ?  " 

He  cut  across  a  thicket.  Keeping  slightly 
ahead  of  them,  and  never  leaving  a  safe 
shelter  to  reveal  himself  to  them. 

The  boat  to  which  one  of  the  two  men  had 
referred  lay  moored  there.  It  was  a  yawl, 
broad  and  long,  and  rather  unwieldy  for  those 
waters.  There  was  a  cuddy  at  the  bow,  and 
as  Le  Britta  saw  the  men  nearing  the  spot, 
and  felt  sanguine  that  they  would  make  their 
prospective  voyage  on  that  craft,  he  decided 
on  a  rash  exploit. 

To  accompany  them  unsuspected,  would 
be  to  trace  them  surely  to  the  lair  where  they 
had  announced  they  were  to  meet  Durand. 


299 

The  photographer  acted  quickly.  He 
sprang  into  the  yawl  and  crowded  through 
the  little  door  leading  into  the  dark  and  low- 
ceilinged  cuddy. 

It  was  close  and  damp,  but  he  did  not  mind 
those  trifling  discomforts,  although  he  hoped 
no  necessity  would  arise  for  the  two  voyagers 
to  explore  his  hiding-place. 

They  stepped  aboard,  at  once  took  up  the 
oars,  and  devoted  all  their  energies  to  smok- 
ing and  rowing,  scarcely  uttering  a  word  until 
they  neared  a  high  bluff,  about  five  miles 
down  the  steam. 

The  yawl  grounded  on  the  pebbly  shore, 
the  men  secured  it,  sprang  out,  and  one  of 
them,  with  a  glance  at  his  watch,  remarked  : 

"Just  in  time.  Midnight.  Come.  It's 
only  a  few  steps  now." 

Those  few  steps  Jera  Le  Britta  followed 
with  anxious  eagerness. 

They  led  the  men  to  an  old  building  that 
resembled  a  residence,  only  that  it  was  in  a 
state  of  considerable  decay. 

The  men  went  around  to  its  side  door. 
One  of  them  tapped  loudly.  It  was  opened. 

Le    Britta,   shrinking  to  the    shelter  of  a 


300 

bush,  saw  them  enter,  but  could  not  make 
out  the  man  who  had  admitted  them. 

In  a  few  minutes,  however,  a  light 
showed  through  the  chinks  in  the  blinds. 

Approaching  them,  Le  Britta  heard  the 
sound  of  voices,  and  detected  the  odor  of 
cigar  smoke,  so  he  knew  that  the  windows 
beyond  were  missing  or  raised. 

He  cautiously  pressed  an  eye  to  a  break  in 
one  of  the  shutters. 

His  soul  arose  in  arms,  defiance  and 
energy  as  he  looked. 

For  he  had  found  the  missing  marplot  of 
the  drama  begun  at  Hawthorne  villa,  and 
transferred  to  this  lonely  house  by  the  river- 
side. 

Destiny  had  led  him,  strangely  but  surely, 
on  the  trail  of  the  man  he  most  wished  to  see 
of  all  men  in  the  world. 

Ralph  Durand  was  before  him  ! 


301 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

PLOTTERS    IN    COUNCIL. 

AT  a  glance,  Jera  Le  Britta  discerned  that 
the  three  men  had  met  for  an  important  con- 
sultation, and  he  prepared  to  listen  to  some 
enlightening  revelations. 

They  seemed  to  be  the  only  occupants  of 
the  building,  and  Le  Britta  was  apparently 
safe  from  discovery,  for  a  time  at  least. 

"What's  the  row,  governor?"  asked  one 
of  Durand's  two  visitors,  "  that  we  have  to 
come  here  at  this  unusual  hour." 

"Work's  the  row,"  replied  Durand,  sharp- 
ly—  "work  well  paid  for,  so  you  needn't 
grumble." 

"  We  don't,  on  that  score,  but" 

"  I  generally  act  for  the  best,"  pursued  the 
plotter.  "  You  have  had  a  remarkably  easy 
time  during  the  past  week." 

"Yes,  watching  the  house  where  the  girl 
is  with  the  old  woman  so  she  don't  by  any 
mischance  escape  is  no  great  labor,"  laughed 
one  of  the  men. 

"  And  she  is  safe  ?" 

"  She's    there    watched   closely,    and,   be- 


302 

tween  you  and  I,  governor,  too  crushed  and 
despondent  to  think  of  running  away." 

"  Good  !"  commented  Durand,  "that  suits 
me.  I  fancy  she  realizes  that  to  disobey  me 
would  involve  her  lover  in  serious  trouble. 
Now,  then,  boys,  you  understand  enough  of 
this  affair  to  realize  that  this  same  lover  of 
hers,  young  Vance,  is  no  friend  of  mine." 

"  We  can  surmise  it,  governor." 

"  It  is  in  my  power  to  send  him  to  the  gal- 
lows. On  the  other  hand,  once  free,  he 
might  accuse  me  in  turn  of  the  murder  of 
old  Gideon  Vernon.  He  is  a  disturbing  ele- 
ment in  my  calculations,  and  the  only  one. 
T  have  laid  my  plans  for  the  future,  and  I 
don't  want  them  disturbed,  so  " 

"  You  want  to  get  rid  of  the  young  man  in 
question,"  slyly  insinuated  one  of  Durand's 
companions. 

"  I  must.  While  he  is  living  and  a  prisoner, 
he  is  a  menace  to  the  girl.  By  threatening 
him,  I  keep  her  in  my  power.  All  this,  how- 
ever, may  lead  to  troublesome  complications 
further  on,  so  I  have  resolved  on  one  grand, 
final  move." 

"  What  is  it,  governor?  " 

"  Money  was  my  primal  object  in  fighting 


303 

for  my  position  as  guardian  to  Gladys  Ver- 
non.  To  my  disappointment,  when  I  became 
legally  appointed  executor  of  the  Vernon 
estates,  I  found  them  heavily  mortgaged,  and 
the  proceeds  had  vanished.  I  imagine,  I 
suspect  that  the  girl  or  some  of  her  friends 
know  where  this  mortgage  money  is,  and  are 
keeping  it  in  hiding  until  she  becomes  of  age. 
However,  even  abandoning  the  hope  of  ever 
handling  that  ready  cash,  I  find  I  can  realize 
as  much  more  by  a  bold  move." 

"  How's  that  ?  " 

"  Sell  the  property  at  a  sacrifice." 

"Can  you  do  it?" 

"With  the  girl's  consent." 

"Not  without  it?" 

"  Scarcely.  So  I  have  resolved  to  marry 
her,  and  end  the  complication  summarily." 

To  marry  Gladys  Vernon  !  The  listening 
photographer  thrilled  at  the  revelation,  more 
than  that,  he  shuddered  at  the  thought  of 
that  pure,  beautiful  girl  wedded  to  a  coarse, 
brutal  villain,  who,  by  thus  wrecking  her  fair, 
young  life,  would  silence  her  lips  against 
him,  would  enforce  the  sacrifice  under  threat 
of  doom  and  death  for  her  lover,  Sydney 
Vance. 


304 

"The  day  that  occurs,"  went  on  the  bold 
plotter,  "I  pay  you  each  five  hundered  dol- 
lars." 

"  And  how  can  we  help  you  ?  "  asked  both 
the  men  in  an  eager  breath. 

"The  young  man  Vance" 

"He  is  here?" 

"  Near  here.  I  have  held  him  a  close 
prisoner.  The  day  of  the  murder  he  pursued 
me.  We  met,  I  overpowered  him.  Since 
then,  in  one  place  or  another,  he  has  been 
my  captive.  I  want  him  removed.  I  dare 
not  leave  him  alone,  for  fear  of  escape.  I 
dare  not  trust  him  in  this  district  longer,  for 
fear  of  discovery.  To-night  you  are  to  re- 
move him." 

"Whereto?" 

"Somewhere  among  the  mining  towns. 
Surely,  you  have  cronies,  friends  who  know 
of  lonely  caves,  isolated  huts,  this  or  that 
out-of-the-way  spot  where  he  will  be  safe  ? " 

"  I  reckon  we  can  find  such  a  place." 

"  I  trust  you  to  do  it.  You  are  to  take 
charge  of  him,  but  watch  him  closely/' 

"Never  fear!" 

"  If  he  escapes,  you  lose  the  reward  I 
have  promised  you.  I  leave  him  in  your 


305 

keeping.  Then  I  shall  propose  marriage  to 
the  girl." 

"Will  she  consent?" 

"  Dare  she  refuse  ?  " 

"Why?" 

"I  tell  you,  the  menace  I  hold  against 
Vance  terrorizes  her  completely.  I  may  have 
to  promise  Vance  his  liberty  —  I  may  have 
to  ask  you  to  cause  him  to  disappear  mys- 
teriously." 

The  villain  paused  and  glanced  signifi- 
cantly at  the  two  men.  Both,  murderous 
wretches  that  they  were,  sordid,  conscience- 
less, the  yellow  glow  of  gold  obliterated  the 
lurid  stain  of  blood  for  them,  were  the 
recompense  only  large  and  speedy. 

"  Once  I  wed  Gladys  Vernon,"  continued 
Durand,  "I  am  sure  of  a  fortune.  Then,  a 
new  scene  of  life,  a  foreign  or  a  distant  land, 
and  let  her  friends  and  my  foes  discover  what 
they  will !  come." 

"  Where  ?  "  queried  one  of  the  men,  and 
all  three  of  the  conspirators  arose  to  their 
feet. 

Durand  did  not  reply,  but  led  the  way 
from  the  room. 

The  interested  and  excited  watcher  at  the 


306 

window  drew  into  the  shadow  of  some 
shrubbery. 

The  trio  came  out  into  the  garden, 
Durand  in  the  lead ;  they  traversed  its 
length,  and  disappeared  in  a  stable. 

Le  Britta  got  around  to  the  building,  and 
watched,  keenly. 

In  a  few  minutes  a  horse,  attached  to  a 
covered  wagon,  was  driven  out. 

This  vehicle  was  formed  of  boards  that 
inclosed  all  the  back  of  the  driver's  seat 
completely,  and  was  only  accessible  by  two 
doors  which  opened  at  the  rear. 

These  were  now  open,  but  Le  Britta,  peer- 
ing past  the  corner  of  the  stable,  could  see 
that  they  were  provided  with  a  heavy  iron 
staple,  padlock  and  chain,  for  locking  them 
securely. 

Further  than  that,  he  could  make  out  the 
outlines  of  some  human  being  lying  on  the 
bottom  of  the  wagon. 

One  of  the  men  approached  the  wagon 
and  seized  the  doors,  to  close  and  lock  them. 

Just  at  that  moment,  however,  Durand 
spoke : 

"  Here,  Tom,  Bill !     I've  got  a   bottle   in 


307 

the  stable.     Perhaps  you'd  like  a  sup  before 
you  start." 

The  man  at  the  wagon  doors  abandoned 
his  task  at  once,  and  he  and  his  companion 
disappeared  with  Durand  into  the  stable. 

'  They    have    a    man    in    that   wagon  — 
Vance  !  "  ejaculated  Le  Britta,  excitedly. 

What  should  he  do  ?  Scarcely  give  battle 
to  three  armed  foes,  and  he  was  hardly  fit 
for  a  run  of  miles  after  that  spirited  steed. 

He  glanced  at  the  stable.  At  its  rear  end, 
he  could  see  the  three  conspirators  by  the 
light  of  a  lantern  drinking  from  a  bottle. 

They  were  not  looking  toward  the  wagon, 
and  his  opportunity  seemed  now  or  never. 

Springing  forward,  the  venturesome  Le 
Britta  decided  on  a  daring  exploit  to  ascertain 
the  identity  of  the  prisoner  in  the  vehicle, 
and  rescue  him  if  possible. 

CHAPTER   XL. 

ESCAPE. 

LE  BRITTA  reached  the  wagon  in  a  single 
bound 

Whatever  was  to  be  done  must  be  executed 
quickly,  he  realized  that  fully. 


308 

Peering  into  the  close  wagon-box,  he  could 
make  out  plainly  a  human  form  lying  pros- 
trate upon  aheap  of  old  grain  bags. 

He  ventured  the  utterance  of  a  name — a 
surmise  as  to  the  identity  of  the  occupant  of 
that  dark  wagon-box. 

"Vance  —  Sydney  Vance!"  he  gasped, 
softly,  but  with  startling  distinctness. 

There  was  a  rustle,   a  muffled  ejaculation. 

"Eh!  who  is  it?" 

"  A  friend.     You  are  Sidney  Vance  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  thought  so,  listen  !  we  have  not  a 
moment  to  spare.  I  am  Gladys  Vernon's 
friend.  I  came  to  rescue  you." 

"But  those  men?" 

"  Are  momentarily  out  of  sight.  I  will 
drag  you  out." 

Le  Britta  seized  the  man's  feet.  He  calcu- 
lated on  dragging  him  to  the  ground,  and 
then,  tied  as  he  was,  bodily  carry  him  to 
some  near  retreat. 

"No!  no!"  dissented  the  captive,  pant- 
ingly.  "  I  am  bound." 

"  I  know  that." 

"Hand  and  foot." 

"  Still " 


309 

"  You  are  tugging  in  vain.  You  cannot 
drag  me  out." 

It  did,  indeed,  seem  as  if  the  task  was 
impossible  —  as  if  some  obstacle  offered  a 
sturdy  resistance  to  all  Le  Britta's  efforts. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?  "  queried  the  photog- 
rapher, with  an  apprehensive  glance  toward 
the  stable. 

"  I  am  also  secured  to  a  ring  in  the  side  of 
the  wagon." 

Le  Britta  uttered  a  concerned  cry,  but  he 
was  not  yet  daunted. 

He  clambered  through  the  back  of  the 
vehicle,  and  groped  in  his  pockets  for  a 
knife  to  sever  the  ropes  securing  the  captive. 

"Too  late  !  "  gasped  the  latter,  suddenly. 

"  Eh  !  what  now  ?" 

"Those  men  !  " 

Le  Britta  uttered  a  dismayed  ejaculation. 

At  just  that  moment  Durand  and  his  two 
accomplices  came  out  from  the  stable. 

There  was  no  time  to  spring  to  the  ground 
and  run  for  cover.  He  doubted  even  if  his 
retreat  was  a  safe  one,  as  he  shrunk  back  in 
the  darkest  corner  of  the  wagon-box. 

"  You  understand,  Tom,"  spoke  Durand. 


"Perfectly,"  replied  the  man  addressed, 
wiping  his  lips. 

His  companion  advanced  to  the  rear  of  the 
vehicle  and  closed  the  doors  with  a  crash, 
enveloping  the  startled  Le  Britta  in  complete 
darkness. 

"No  danger  of  his  getting  away  now!" 
laughed  the  man. 

"  Scarcely,"  spoke  Durand.  "  You  have 
your  instructions.  Don't  lose  sight  of  the 
prisoner,  and  obey  orders." 

The  two  men  jumped  into  the  seat.  Sep- 
arated from  them  by  only  the  thin  board  par- 
tition, Jera  Le  Britta  tried  to  realize  the 
strange  situation  into  which  his  rashness  had 
preciptated  him. 

His  position  was  one  of  undoubted  peril. 
He  was  weak,  unarmed,  practically  at  the 
mercy  of  two  desperate  foes,  shut  in  to  a 
prison-place  from  which  escape  would  be 
difficult. 

The  vehicle  started  up.  Le  Britta  sank  to 
the  bottom  of  the  wagon.  He  groped  about 
until  he  established  the  position  in  which  his 
companion  in  captivity  lay.  Then  placing 
his  lips  close  to  his  ears,  he  began  a  hurried, 
undertoned  conversation. 


"  Who  are  you  ?  "  queried  the  prisoner,  in 
a  wondering  tone. 

Le  Britta  explained  sufficient  to  force  the 
conviction  that  he  was  a  friend. 

He  had  found  his  pocket-knife  now,  and 
he  set  straightway  about  relieving  Vance  of 
his  bonds. 

A  few  deft  strokes  severed  the  ropes  se- 
curing hands  and  feet.  He  untied  the  strong 
cords  running  to  an  iron  ring  sunk  in  the 
side  of  the  wagon. 

"  You  are  free,"  whispered  the  photog- 
rapher. "Now,  for  liberty  !  " 

"But  how?" 

"Wait!" 

The  jolting  of  the  wagon  and  the  grinding 
of  the  wheels  masked  Le  Britta's  movements 
about  the  interior  of  the  vehicle.  He  felt  at 
the  sides  of  the  partition,  behind  the  driver's 
seat,  at  the  bottom,  top,  and  at  the  locked 
doors  at  the  rear. 

"  We  are  tightly  shut  in,"  he  announced, 
coming  back  to  Vance. 

"Then  let  us  wait  until  they  reach  their 
destination." 

"And  then?" 

"They    will    unlock    the    doors.     We  will 


312 

spring  out  suddenly  upon  them,  overcome 
them." 

"  You  forget  —  they  are  armed." 

"  But  we  shall  take  them  at  a  disadvan- 
tage," persisted  Vance. 

"And  they  may  also  halt  amid  friends  as 
desperate  and  murderous  as  themselves." 

•"I  never  thought  of  that." 

"No,"  spoke  Le  Britta,  thoughtfully,  "our 
only  hope  of  escaping  their  clutches  safely,  is 
to  find  some  way  of  leaving  the  vehicle  un- 
perceived  by  them  before  they  reach  their 
destination." 

"But,  how?" 

That  was,  indeed,  a  serious  question,  and 
Le  Britta  reflected  deeply. 

Their  combined  efforts,  vigorously  per- 
sisted in,  might  eventually  enable  them  to 
burst  open  the  rear  doors,  but  the  noise 
would  disturb  and  warn  their  jailers,  would 
lead  to  an  investigation,  and  certainly  end  in 
recapture. 

"  Let  us  make  a  united  rush  for  the  doors," 
murmured  Vance. 

"They  are  strongly  locked." 

"  But  we  may  burst  them  open  at  a  single 
contact." 


3*3 

"And  warn  those  men,  even  if  we  succeed." 

"Then  it  is  fight  or  flight,"  returned 
Vance,  grimly.  "  Come.  Ready." 

"Stop!" 

The  desperate  venture  about  to  culminate, 
the  voice  of  Le  Britta  sounded  a  peremptory 
halt. 

"What  is  it?"  queried  his  companion,  im- 
patiently. 

"I  have  discovered  something." 

"  What  ? " 

"  A  new  possible  means  of  escape.  Give 
me  time,  Yes.  I  am  positive." 

Le  Britta  was  feeling  along  the  roof  of  the 
wagon -box. 

His  hand  reached  up  ;  he  had  discovered  a 
slight  break  in  the  sealed  top. 

One  board,  about  a  foot  wide,  had  given 
slightly  under  his  touch,  and  as  he  pressed 
it,  he  found  that  it  was  loose  from  the  rear 
end  clear  to  the  center  of  the  wagon. 

It  swayed  upward  about  six  inches,  then 
some  new  resistance  prevented  further 
progress. 

"  I  see  what  the  matter  is,"  he  murmured. 

"  What  ?  "  queried  the  eager  Vance. 


3H 

"  The  top  has  a  covering  of  water-proof. 
Wait.  I  can  slit  it." 

By  extending  his  knife  past  the  loose 
board,  the  photographer  was  enabled  to  cut 
the  outside  covering. 

Pushing  now  on  the  board,  it  gave  nearly 
a  foot,  and  through  the  opening  the  stars 
were  plainly  visible. 

The  center  nail,  however,  held  it  firmly,  so 
that  it  would  spring  back  into  place  once  the 
pressure  of  his  hand  was  removed. 

"  If  I  hold  it,  can  you  creep  through  ?  "  he 
queried  of  his  companion. 

"  Yes,  readily  ;  but  you  ? " 

"  I  will  try  to  follow." 

"Good.     I  am  ready." 

Le  Britta  gave  some  quick  whispered 
directions  to  his  companion. 

He  then  pushed  the  board  up  as  far  as  he 
could,  and  Vance,  grasping  the  boards  at 
the  'side,  began  to  scramble  through  the 
aperture. 

It  was  a  tight  squeeze  and  fraught  with 
considerable  peril. 

Too  much  pressure  on  the  board  might 
pull  the  center  nail  loose,  and  although  the 
hood  over  the  driver's  seat  concealed  them 


from  the  two  men,  once  the  board  broke  loose, 
the  shock  and  crash  would  alarm  them. 

The  board  shot  back  with  the  force  of  a 
lever  on  Le  Britta's  fingers,  as  he  saw  Vance 
reach  the  top,  scramble  over  it,  and  drop  to 
the  road  from  the  rear  of  the  vehicle. 

He  was  elated  at  the  success  of  his  experi- 
ment. He  theorized  that  Vance  would  fol- 
low after  the  wagon  until  he  had  effected  his 
own  escape,  when  he  would  rejoin  him. 

Resting  a  moment  or  two,  Le  Britta  started 
to  escape  as  his  companion  had  done. 

A  sigh  of  dismay  escaped  his  lips,  as  he 
lifted  himself  to  the  aperture. 

For  just  then  he  made  a  distressing  dis- 
covery. 

It  was  easy  to  get  out  with  some  one  to 
hold  the  board  up  for  the  escaping  person, 
but  unaided,  Le  Britta  vainly  strove  to  force 
head  and  shoulders  through  the  opening. 

The  board,  taut  as  a  steel  trap,  would  not 
give  sufficiently. 

With  a  concerned  face,  the  photographer 
dropped  back  to  the  bottom  of  the  wagon- 
box. 

He  was  fairly  in  a  trap  of  his  own  making 
-he  had  sacrificed  his  own  safety  for  that  of 


Vance,  and  his  escape  now  depended  solely 
on  outside  assistance. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 
IN  PERIL. 

THE  wagon  had  commenced  to  go  slower, 
and  the  anxious  Le  Britta  could  estimate 
that  they  had  proceeded  at  least  five  miles, 
and  were  probably  nearing  their  destination. 

He  saw  at  a  glance  his  mistake  in  directing 
Vance  to  make  haste  in  leaving  the  wagon- 
top  once  free  of  the  aperture,  for  had  he  re- 
mained only  a  moment  to  hold  up  the  loose 
plank  while  Le  Britta  crawled  through,  both 
would  now  be  speeding  away  to  liberty. 

Where  was  Vance  ?  Surely,  he  would  not 
leave  his  rescuer  in  peril,  coward-like,  abandon 
him  to  his  fate  ! 

No ;  a  slight  jangle  at  the  rear  doors  told 
that  some  one  was  fumbling  with  the  lock. 
Then  the  doors  creaked  and  strained,  but 
they  remained  intact,  and  Le  Britta  knew 
that  his  friend  must  be  following  the  wagon 
under  the  cover  of  the  darkness  and  gloom 
of  the  night. 


No  further  evidence  of  the  proximity  of 
his  late  companion  in  captivity  was  forthcom- 
ing for  nearly  half  an  hour. 

Then,  in  a  manner  most  original  and  start- 
ling, Sidney  Vance  announced  his  fealty  to 
his  rescuer  and  his  desperate  resolve  to 
reach  and  aid  him,  even  at  the  cost  of  dis- 
covery, and  an  unequal  conflict  with  the  two 
knaves  on  the  wagon-seat,  who,  all  unconscious 
of  what  had  so  far  occurred,  smoked  placidly 
and  indulged  in  occasional  conversation. 

Of  a  sudden,  something  landed  against 
the  two  locked  doors  of  the  vehicle  with  a 
force  that  split  one  of  the  panels  clear  in 
twain. 

Pieces  of  rock  and  splintered  wood  were 
showered  about  the  astonished  Lc  Britta  as 
that  crash  resounded,  and  the  hor^  started 
up  affrighted. 

Instantly,  too,  Le  Britta  saw  out  into  the 
road  through  the  broken  door,  and  discerned 
also  that  the  rent  thus  made  in  the  thin  wood 
could  be  enlarged  to  an  aperture  of  escape 
very  speedily,  were  time  only  afforded. 

"Whoa!" 

The  imperious  command  rang  out,  the 
lines  were  jerked,  the  horse  shrank  t(  *U 


haunches,  and  there  was  a  hurried  commo- 
tion on  the  front  seat. 

"What  was  that?" 

"A  crash!" 

"  It  struck  the  wagon  ?  " 

"Jump  down  and  see." 

Abandoning  the  seat,  both  men  sprang  to 
the  roadway,  and  ran  around  to  the  rear  of 
the  vehicle. 

"  Tom,  look  here." 

"Mercy  !  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

Ralph  Durand's  fellow-plotters  viewed  the 
rent  in  the  wagon-door  agape. 

"  He's  tried  to  break  out !  "  cried  one. 

"  No,  don't  you  see  ?  The  damage  has 
been  done  from  the  outside." 

"But  how?" 

"A  rock.  See!  the  jagged  ends  of  this 
board?" 

"  Maybe  he's  escaped  ?  " 

"  What !  tied  hand  and  foot  ?  " 

"But"- 

"  I'll  look  and  see." 

One  of  the  men  drew  forth  a  match  and 
ignited  it. 

Extending  it  through  the  rent,  he  peered 
into  the  darksome  void  beyond. 


319 

"  Great  goodness  !  it's" 

The  sentence  was  not  concluded,  for  as, 
wonder-eyed,  incredulous,  the  startled  eyes 
of  the  plotter  took  in  the  outlines  of  the  form 
in  the  wagon,  that  form  sprang  forward. 

Puff!   a  quick  breath  blew  out  the  match. 

Recoiling,  the  man  seemed  too  overcome 
to  speak. 

"Tom!  "  he  gasped. 

"Well?" 

"  He  ain't  there  !  " 

"What!" 

"No— he's  gone." 

"Gone?  why  —  I  hear  him  moving  about." 

"  Yes,  but  it  ain't  our  man  !  " 

"  Nonsense  ! " 

"  It's  another,  and  he  ain't  bound." 

"  Ridiculous  !  " 

"  Look  and  see  !  " 

The  other  flared  a  second  match.  A  sud- 
de/i  cry  announced  his  surprise,  but  he  was 
quicker  to  act  than  the  other. 

"Treachery  !  trickery  !  "  he  cried. 

"It  ain't  our  man  ?  " 

"No." 

"  It's  another  " 


320 

"  Back  !  "  yelled  the  man.  "  He  may  be 
armed." 

He,  himself,  drew  a  revolver.  Excited, 
dubious,  he  extended  it  toward  the  wagon. 

At  that  moment,  from  some  bushes  lining 
the  road,  though  unperceived  by  the  two 
startled  men,  a  human  hand  was  raised. 

A  rock  struck  the  hand  of  the  man  clutch- 
ing the  weapon. 

It  fell  from  his  nerveless  grasp,  but,  as  it 
did  so,  one  chamber  exploded  with  a  start- 
ling report. 

The  horse,  affrighted,  sprang  forward. 

The  sudden  jerk  sent  the  anxious  Le  Britta 
flat  on  his  back.  Ere  he  could  again  struggle 
to  his  feet,  he  realized  that  he  was  the  victim 
of  a  runaway. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

A    STRANGE    COMPLICATION. 

"WnoA  !  whoa!  "  yelled  the  two  men,  in 
unison,  but  their  cries  and  their  springs  after 
the  flying  horse  and  vehicle  were  fruitless  to 
stay  a  terrified  runaway. 

It  seemed  to  Le  Britta  that  the  wagon  was 


321 

going  at  the  rate  of  a  fast  express  train.  He 
was  knocked  from  side  to  side  of  the  vehicle, 
which  tipped,  jolted  and  jarred  as  if  threaten- 
ing every  moment  to  come  to  a  halt,  a 
wreck. 

He  made  one  frantic  effort  to  reach  the 
hole  in  the  door  made  by  the  rock,  enlarge  it, 
spring  through  it. 

With  the  wagon  dashing  along  at  break- 
neck pace,  however,  he  could  enforce  no 
systematic  plan  of  operations,  and  he  saw  at 
a  glance  out  upon  the  starlit  road,  that  a  fall 
there  would  be  perilous  in  the  extreme. 

Even  in  the  uncertain  light  of  the  night  he 
could  make  out  the  winding  road.  A  curve 
had  shut  out  friend  and  foes  alike.  No 
houses  or  lights  were  visible,  and  the  road 
seemed  to  be  inclining  steeply. 

With  added  momentum,  steed  and  vehicle 
now  dashed  forward.  A  thundering  noise 
caused  Le  Britta  to  look  out. 

The  wild  runaway  had  reached  a  planked 
bridge.  Half-way  across  it  there  came  a 
shock  that  jarred  every  nerve  of  Le  Britta's 
system. 

There  was  a  crash,  a  stumble,  a  loud  neigh 
of  terror,  and  then  the  horse  dashed  away 


322 

again,  fleet  as  the  wind,  but  no  longer  en- 
cumbered with  the  wagon. 

That,  with  its  human  captive,  had,  it  seemed, 
struck  a  post  in  the  railing  of  the  bridge.  It 
crashed,  it  toppled.  There  was  a  tearing 
sound,  and  over  and  over  it  went,  ripping  the 
bridge  guard  from  place  and  carrying  it  with 
it  in  a  mad  dive  for  the  surface  of  the  turbu- 
lent stream  fully  twenty  feet  below. 

Splash  ! 

A  confused  sense  of  peril  flashed  upon 
Le  Britta's  senses. 

Then,  as  he  lay  a  huddled  heap  in  one  cor- 
ner of  the  box,  two  discoveries  thrilled  his 
soul  vaguely  —  the  current  of  the  river  was 
carrying  the  dismantled  vehicle  down  stream, 
and  the  box  was  filling  with  water  ! 

It  seemed  to  eddy,  whirl  and  totter,  and 
gain  additional  velocity  each  moment.  It 
careened,  upset,  a  choking  flood  of  waters 
rose  breast-high,  and  then  a  second  crash 
half-stunned  the  imperiled  captive. 

That  crash  announced  liberty,  however,  if 
nothing  else,  for  striking  some  rock  in  mid- 
stream, the  battered  wagon-box  split  clear  in 
twain. 

Exhausted,    weak    and     half-blinded,    Le 


323 

Britta  managed  to  swim  to  the  shore.  There 
upon  the  shingly  beach  he  lay,  one  hour  or 
ten,  he  knew  not  which,  for  insensibility  in- 
stantly supervened. 

The  first  gray  tints  of  dawn  were  streaking 
the  eastern  horizon  as  he  again  staggered  to 
his  feet. 

His  senses  swam  still,  and  his  brain  seemed 
benumbed.  Without  coherency  or  motive, 
he  wandered  from  the  spot. 

Broad  daylight  found  him  nearing  a  collec- 
tion of  huts  marking  some  poor  industrial 
center.  Into  one  that  was  deserted  he  stag- 
gered. 

It  seemed  complete  luxury  to  rest  again. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  tired  senses  demanded 
inertia,  forgetfulness. 

For  one  hour  he  tossed  in  nervous,  rest- 
less dozing,  then  profound  slumber  ensued, 
and  then,  gradually,  he  seemed  to  awake, 
refreshed,  rejuvenated,  to  the  old  practical 
life  again. 

Where  was  he  ?  that  was  easy  to  figure 
out.  And  Vance  and  his  two  captors  ?  What 
had  become  of  them  ? 

Le  Britta  walked  to  the  door  of  the  hut, 
Eventide !  For  twelve  hours  he  had  slum- 


324 

bered,  while  the  scoundrelly  Durand  was  con- 
summating his  evil  projects,  he  had  lain  inert  ! 
but  there  was  one  satisfaction  —  his  victim, 
Vance,  was  probably  at  liberty. 

Le  Britta  saw  the  lights  of  a  little  town 
about  half-a-mile  distant,  and  proceeded 
thither.  His  clothes  had  become  torn,  be- 
spattered with  mire,  soaked  in  the  wagon  and 
the  river,  and  at  a  small  clothing  establish- 
ment he  purchased  a  new  outfit. 

Was  he  near  to  the  center  of  operations 
of  the  plotters  ?  Certainly  somewhere  near 
here  the  fair  Gladys  was  a  prisoner,  and  the 
plotting  Durand  made  his  headquarters. 

A  meal  and  rest  put  the  photographer  in 
shape  for  action,  and  apparently  action  was 
needed  in  behalf  of  those  he  would  befriend 
now  if  ever. 

He  made  some  inquiries  at  the  restaurant, 
but  its  proprietor,  a  stolid  German,  announced 
himself  as  a  recent  arrival,  and  not  at  all 
familiar  with  the  surroundings  of  the  village 
or  it  people. 

The  minister  knew  everything,  he  stated, 
and  the  minister's  home  was  down  the  street, 
"that  way,"  and  he  indicated  a  neat  cottage 
a  square  or  two  distant. 


3*5 

Le  Britta  proceeded  thither.  It  would  do 
no  harm  to  make  a  few  inquiries,  but  when 
he  rang  at  the  door  bell  of  the  house  there 
was  no  reply  to  his  summons,  and  he  decided 
that  the  entire  family  must  be  away. 

In  a  thoughtful  mood,  he  sat  down  on  the 
porch  steps  of  the  cottage. 

What  to  do  next  ?  was  the  question,  and  a 
most  difficult  one  to  answer. 

He  had  failed  signally  in  attempting  to 
rescue  the  stolen  Vernon  fortune  from  Darius 
Meredith.  To  return  to  that  individual  and 
charge  him  with  attempted  murder  would  be 
to  meet  open  denial  and  defiance.  No,  he 
had  played  a  bold  game,  and  had  lost,  and 
the  wily  Meredith  would  not  be  taken  un- 
awares again,  he  felt  assured. 

He  had  liberated  Vance — that  was  one 
definite  and  important  step  accomplished. 
If  he  could  only  find  him  again  !  —  if  he  could 
only  locate  Gladys  Vernon,  and  rescue  her. 
If  he  could  only  reunite  these  two,  and  say : 
"Let  the  fortune  go  —  seek  happiness  in 
some  other  country." 

The  gate  clicked,  and  Le  Britta  looked  up 
quickly.  Was  it  the  minister  returned  ? 

No,  for  the  new-comer  had  arrived  driving 


326 

a  close  carriage,  and  as  he  walked  up  the 
graveled  path  his  attire  and  manner  evinced 
nothing  professional  or  refined. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Dane  —  the  clergyman?" 
queried  the  new-comer,  quite  eagerly. 

"  No,"  sprang  to  Jera  Le  Britta's  lips,  but 
the  word  was  checked  instantly. 

For,  with  a  start,  he  recognized  the 
stranger  as  one  of  the  very  men  who  had 
carried  him  into  captivity  in  the  close  wagon 
the  night  previous. 

Some  quick  intuition  of  thought  caused  Le 
Britta  to  parley  with  the  man. 

"What  did  you  want?"  he  asked,  simply. 

"A  marriage,  sir,"  replied  the  man.  "  I 
wish  you  to  officiate  at  a  marriage  ceremony 
at  once." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

AT   THE    OLD    HOUSE. 

JERA  LE  BRITTA  tried  hard  to  preserve  a 
composed  demeanor,  as  the  last  words  of  the 
driver  of  the  carriage  at  the  gate  revealed  to 
him  in  a  flash  the  golden  opportunity  of  a 
lifetime. 

It  did  not  require  much  thinking  to  surmise 


327 

the  true  condition  of  affairs.  The  man 
before  him  was  one  of  Ralph  Durand's  fellow- 
plotters,  and  he  had  been  sent  hither  for  the 
village  clergyman. 

Why  ?  why,  but  to  enable  Durand  to  carry 
out  his  previously-announced  plans  ?  Doubt- 
lessly, the  two  men  had  hastened  to  Durand 
after  the  runaway  accident,  and  had  reported 
the  escape  of  Sydney  Vance.  Thoroughly 
frightened,  the  villain  had  been  obliged  to  act 
quickly.  He  proposed  to  hasten  the  marriage 
ceremony.  He  had  sent  this  man  to  secure 
a  licensed  clergyman  to  officiate. 

He  did  not  know  Le  Britta,  for  that  mo- 
mentary glance  through  the  broken  door  of 
the  prison-wagon  had  been  too  fleeting  to  fix 
his  features  on  his  mind.  More  than  that, 
he  did  not  know  the  clergyman  by  sight. 

"  He  takes  me  for  the  minister,"  murmured 
Le  Britta,  excitedly. 

A  wild  suggestion  entered  the  photogra- 
pher's mind.  Recent  perils,  a  late  acquaint- 
ance with  exciting  and  unfamiliar  progress 
of  a  decidedly  sensational  nature,  had  made 
him  more  reckless  than  usual. 

Dare  he  assume  the  place  of  the  clergy- 


3*8 

man  —  dare  he  accompany  the  man  in  the 
carriage  ? 

What  would  be  the  result ;  whither  would 
it  lead  him  ?  Productive  of  benefit  or  trouble, 
the  intrepid  Le  Britta  was  resolved  to  locate 
the  imprisoned  Gladys  Vernon,  was  deter- 
mined to  save  her  from  wedding  the  scoun- 
drel Durand  if  possible. 

"Ah  !  a  marriage  ceremony,"  spoke  Le 
Britta,  with  quiet  dignity.  "Where  are  the 
parties  to  the  contract?" 

"It's  —  it's  quite  a  distance,  sir?"  spoke 
the  man  with  marked  agitation.  "It's  —  it's 
a  peculiar  case." 

"  It  must  be,  to  include  such  haste.  May 
I  ask  who  sent  you  ?  " 

"My — my  friend,  sir;  a  Mr.  Durand. 
Quite  wealthy  gentleman." 

"  And  the  bride  ?  " 

"A  young  lady.  Both  are  awaiting  you. 
I  was  instructed  to  say  to  you  that  your  fee 
will  be  large  and  promptly  paid.  In  advance, 
if  you  like.  Please  don't  disappoint  me,  sir ! 
You  are  the  only  clergyman  in  the  district 
we  can  reach." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  go,"  announced  Le  Britta. 

The  driver  seemed  delighted.     He  hurried 


329 

him  to  the  carriage,  bestowed  him  safely 
within,  and,  springing  to  the  seat,  urged  up 
the  horses. 

Jera  Le  Britta  reflected  seriously.  It  was 
easy  to  accept  a  situation,  but  far  more  diffi- 
cult to  face  it  when  its  issues  became  compli- 
cated. He  saw  his  mistake  as  he  cogitated 
over  the  possible  results  of  his  strange  jour- 
ney. When  they  arrived  at  their  destination 
he  would  find  himself  in  the  midst  of  Durand 
and  his  friends,  and  probably  at  some  isolated  ' 
spot.  He  should  have  learned  more  from  the 
driver  —  have  secured  police  assistance — a 
score  of  theories  presented  themselves  to  his 
mind,  now  that  it  was  too  late  to  act. 

The  carriage  proceeded  swiftly.  It  must 
have  traversed  fully  ten  miles  by  lonely  and 
unfrequented  roads  ere  a  halt  was  made. 
Le  Britta  was  astonished  as  he  looked  from 
the  carriage,  for  the  spot  was  the  self-same 
one  by  the  riverside  whither  the  boat  had 
taken  him  the  evening  previous  —  the  lonely 
house  where  he  had  sprung  into  the  prison- 
wagon  to  rescue  Sydney  Vance. 

Twice  Le  Britta  was  on  the  point  of  spring- 
ing from  the  vehicle  and  escaping,  for  he 
foresaw  nothing  but  trouble  when  he  was 


330 

confronted  by  Durind  and  recognized  by  him, 
as  he  would  certainly  be.  The  thought  that 
in  every  dilemma  of  the  past,  however,  aid 
had  come  at  an  unexpected  time,  a  realization 
of  the  fact  that  within  an  hour  the  destiny  of 
innocent  Gladys  Vernon  would  be  made  or 
marred,  nerved  the  photographer  to  proceed 
with  the  exploit  in  hand,  at  least  until  he  had 
penetrated  the  lair  of  the  enemy,  and  had 
learned  how  thr.  land  lay. 

"  This  way,  sir,"  spoke  the  driver,  as  the 
carriage  halted, 

It  was  directly  at  the  side  of  the  old  house 
and  near  a  vine-covered  porch,  and  as  he 
sprang  from  the  driver's  seat  and  opened  the 
carriage  door,  he  started  up  the  steps. 

"  Rather  dark  and  mysterious  this,  I  fancy," 
murmured  Le  Britta. 

"  Eh  ?  Oh  !  that's  all  right,  sir.  There's 
only  a  few  minutes'  talk,  a  big  fee,  sir,  and 
I'll  drive  you  home  again." 

"  But  why  all  this  haste  ?  "  persevered  Le 
Britta. 

"Mr.  Durand  will  explain  all  that  satisfac- 
torily to  you.  This  way;  just  sit  down  for  a 
minute  or  two,  and  excuse  the  darkness.  I'll 
$  lamp  and  Mr.  Durand." 


331 

He  pushed  a  common  wooden  chair  toward 
Le  Britta  as  he  spoke.  The  latter  could  not 
see  it,  he  could  only  feel  it,  and,  groping 
about,  he  sat  down  and  waited  in  painful 
reflection. 

The  door  stood  open,  the  horses  and  car- 
riage were  without,  escape  lay  at  hand.  It 
was  not  too  late  yet  to  retreat. 

He  listened.  Only  the  departing  footsteps 
of  the  driver  down  some  uncarpeted  corridor 
echoed  vaguely  on  his  hearing. 

Was  Gladys  Vernon  in  the  building? 
Were  Durand  and  the  driver  the  only 
other  occupants? 

"  If  I  only  had  a  weapon,"  murmured  Le 
Britta,  "  I  would  boldly  face  these  scoundrels, 

A  •*_•!' 

As  it  is   

He  took  a  step  toward  the  door.  Retreat 
seemed  prudent.  Better  to  watch  the  house 
in  hiding,  than  risk  exposure  and  defeat  by 
boldly  facing  overpowering  numbers. 

Just  then,  however,  from  the  direction  the 
driver  had  taken,  sounded  footsteps,  then  a 
light  glowed,  and  then  a  quick  voice  spoke 
sharply  - 

"  Who's  that  ?  " 


332 

"Durand's  voice!"  murmured  Le  Britta, 
excitedly. 

"Tom." 

"  Ah  !  you  have  returned  ?  Glad  of  il. 
Bill  only  just  came  back.  I  was  afraid  you 
might  miss  finding  a  minister,  so  I  posted 
him  off,  too." 

"  Well,  I've  got  your  man." 

"Whatman?"  ' 

"  Mr.  Dane,  the  minister  at  Acton." 

"What!" 

Durand's  tones  expressed  the  profoundest 
surprise. 

"  I  say  I've  got  the  minister." 

"Mr.  Dane  of  Acton?" 

"  Yes,  just  brought  him.  He's  in  that 
room  waiting  to  see  you." 

"Nonsense  ! " 

"Why." 

"  Nonsense,  I  say  !  "  reiterated  Durand, 
forcibly.  "  Bill  himself  has  just  brought  Mr. 
Dane  of  Acton,  and  he's  with  the  bride 
now!" 


333 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 
LIBERTY  ! 

LE  BRITTA  started  violently.  The  revela- 
tion contained  in  the  unexpected  announce- 
ment of  Durand  fairly  electrified  him. 

The  assumption  he  had  undertaken  was 
about  to  lead  him  into  complications  and 
difficulties,  likely  to  arouse  suspicion  and 
enmity  at  once,  even  if  he  was  not  recognized 
by  the  plotter. 

He  heard  Durand's  assistant  whistle  incred- 
ulously. 

"The  minister,  Mr.  Dane,  with  the  bride  ?" 
he  repeated,  blankly. 

"Yes,"  returned  Durand. 

"And  I  just  brought  him" 

"  You  did  not." 

"From  his  very  home" 

"I  say,  you  didn't!"  retorted  Durand, 
irritably. 

"  Will  you  come  and  see  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  will ;  but,  as  I  know  Dane,  I  am 
not  likely  to  be  mistaken." 

"Then  my  man  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  He  must  be  an  impostor." 


334 

"  Or  worse." 

"Eh?" 

"A  spy.  Hist!  We'll  take  him  off  his 
guard." 

Le  Britta  bristled  with  excitement.  He 
glided  across  the  room.  His  intention  was 
to  make  for  the  outside  door. 

At  just  that  moment,  however,  a  gust  of 
wind  drove  the  door  to  with  a  slam.  Le 
Britta  sprang  to  the  knob  and  seized  it.  A 
spring  lock,  it  held  firm,  and  he  had  no  time 
to  seek  out  its  mechanism. 

He  dashed  across  the  room,  as  in  the 
approaching  light  of  the  lamp  in  the  hands 
of  one  of  the  intruders,  he  made  out  a  door- 
way dimly.  The  door  yielded  to  his  touch. 
He  crossed  its  threshold,  to  find  himself  in  a 
dark,  narrow  corridor,  penetrated  its  length, 
passed  up  a  stairway,  and  halted,  thrilled  and 
uncertain,  at  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice 
that  recalled  the  past  vividly. 

"  Gladys  Vernon ! "  he  murmured,  ex- 
citedly. 

Yes,  the  heiress  of  Hawthorne  villa  was 
certainly  iri  the  room  beyond,  and  she  was 
speaking. 

In  a  low,  tremulous,  pleading  tone  of  voice, 


335 

her  accents  fell  distinctly  upon  Jera  Le 
Britta's  strained  hearing. 

He  could  not  catch  her  words,  but  he 
knew  that  the  poor  girl,  faced  with  the  dread 
alternative  of  wedding  a  scoundrel  or  send- 
ing her  lover  to  the  gallows,  was  pouring  her 
sorrows  into  the  ears  of  the  clergyman. 

"  My  poor  child ! "  he  heard  the  latter 
speak;  "this  is  really  an  unexpected  dis- 
closure. I  was  led  to  suppose  that  you  were 
a  willing  party  to  the  ceremony.  I  declare  ! 
I  hardly  know  how  to  act  in  the  matter. 
You  say  you  will  marry  him,  and  yet  you 
shrink  from  him.  I  will  see  Mr.  Durand.  I 
will  talk  with  him." 

Le  Britta  had  just  time  to  secrete  himself 
in  a  shadowed  niche  in  the  corridor,  as  the 
door  of  the  room,  on  which  his  attention  and 
interest  were  centered,  opened,  and  a  flare 
of  light  illumined  its  threshold. 

He  heard  the  minister  grope  his  way  down 
the  corridor  and  descend  the  stairs.  He  had 
gone  in  quest  of  Durand. 

In  a  flash  Jera  Le  Britta  had  opened  the 
door  just  closed.  Into  the  room  he  sprang. 

"  Gladvs  —  Miss  Vernon  !  " 

J 

In  pity  and  concern  he   regarded  the  pale- 


336 

faced  girl  before  him,  who,  with  startled 
alarm,  stood  regarding  him. 

"  You  do  not  know  me  ?  "   he  began. 

"No  — yes  — oh,  Mr.  Le  Britta  !  " 

Sobbing  amid  her  despair,  tottering  to  his 
support  as  to  that  of  a  true  friend,  Gladys' 
eyes,  so  full  of  anguish,  showed  a  token  of 
recognition. 

Le  Britta's  nerves  were  at  a  high  tension. 
He  realized  that  the  most  vital  moment  in 
the  affairs  of  the  persecuted  heiress  and  her 
friends  had  arrived  ;  that  there  was  no  time 
to  lose  in  explanations.  Delay  meant  peril 
— deep,  certain,  disastrous. 

"  Miss  Vernon,"  he  spoke,  hurriedly  and 
seriously,  "  I  understand  all.  Do  not  speak 
or  delay.  Follow  me." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Le  Britta  "- 

"  Yonder  door  !     It  leads  " — 

"  To  the  garden." 

"  Then,  hasten  !  " 

"  It  is  locked." 

"The  window,  then  !  " 

Le  Britta  hurried  to  the  window  in  ques- 
tion. He  raised  it  and  glanced  out.  A  few 
feet  below  was  the  garden. 

Gladys  had  not  followed  him.      She   still 


337 

stood  in  the  center  of  the  room,  swaying, 
wondering,  in  doubt. 

"Come  !  "  he  spoke,  peremptorily,  almost 
sharply. 

"  You  wish  me  to  leave  here  ?" 

"  Yes.  We  must  fly  without  a  moment's 
delay." 

Gladys  uttered  a  faint  wail  of  distress  and 
despair. 

"  Mr.  Le  Britta,  I  dare  not !  "  she  moaned. 

"  Dare  not  seek  liberty  ?  " 

"No." 

"  After  captivity,  suffering.  To  remain 
here  means  sacrifice,  doom." 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  murmured  Gladys, 
brokenly.  "  Oh  !  you  do  not  know  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  know  ! "  interrupted  Le  Britta, 
vehemently.  "I  comprehend,  now.  That 
scoundrel,  Durand  —  you  fear  his  power  !  " 

"  He  threatens." 

"What?" 

"  My  lover,  Sydney  Vance.  He  is  a  pris- 
oner in  his  power." 

"No!"  . 

"He  told  me" 

"  Falsehoods  !     Sydney  Vance  is  free." 

"Free?" 


33* 

"Yes,  Gladys,  I  beseech  of  you,  do  not 
delay.  Hark  !  They  are  coming  this  way. 
You  must,  you  shall  escape  !  " 

Almost  forcibly  Le  Britta  drew  the  dis- 
tracted girl  toward  the  open  window. 

He  lifted  her  through.  The  very  moment 
they  reached  the  ground,  a  wild  ejaculation 
of  alarm  echoed  through  the  apartment  they 
had  just  vacated. 

"  Gone  —  the  girl  is  not  here  ! "  rang  out 
Durand's  excited  tones. 

"  Run  —  do  not  tremble  so,  I  will  see  you 
safely  beyond  that  villain's  power,  believe 
me  ! "  breathed  Le  Britta  as,  clasping  Gladys* 
hand,  he  started  along  the  side  of  the  house. 

Looking  back,  however,  the  photographer 
discerned  new  cause  for  alarm. 

Durand  had  discovered  the  avenue  oi 
escape  of  his  fair  prisoner,  and  at  that 
moment  leaped  out  into  the  garden. 

A  little  ahead  Le  Britta  made  out  the  car- 
nage that  had  brought  him  hither.  The 
horses  stood  unhitched  and  no  one  near 
them. 

"  Gain  that  vehicle,"  he  spoke,  hurriedly,  to 

Gladys.     "Ah !  here  we  are.     Quick!     Jump 

>    I  >  • 
in  ! 


339 

He  tore  open  the  carriage  door,  and  forced 
the  girl  within.  Then  he  made  a  spring  for 
the  driver's  seat. 

A  quick  hand  grasped  him,  however,  a 
fierce,  hissing  breath  grazed  his  ear. 

"  You  meddling  impostor  !    Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Release  me." 

In  the  powerful  arms  of  Durand,  held  at 
a  disadvantage,  Le  Britta  could  only  strug- 
gle helplessly. 

A  swirling  cut  on  the  air  mingled  with  a 
thud  and  a  gasp  of  dismay,  and  the  hold  of 
the  plotter  was  suddenly  released. 

Turning  dismayed,  the  startled  Le  Britta 
saw  a  form  on  the  carriage-seat  whirl  the 
whip. 

He  must  have  just  sprang  there  from  the 
other  side,  for  it  was  a  stunning  contact  from 
the  heavy  whip-handle  that  had  laid  Durand 
prostrate  on  the  ground. 

There  he  lay,  dazed,  helpless,  for  the  mo- 
ment at  least. 

"Into  the  carriage,  quick  !  "  orderer<  ,.r  im- 
perious voice  to  Le  Britta. 

"Mercy  !  "  breathed  the  photographe*  .  'uh 
wondering  emphasis. 


340 

"That  voice  —  oh!  my  wronged  love!" 
murmured  Gladys. 

"It  is  Vance!"  gasped  Le  Britta,  as  he 
sprang  into  the  carriage  beside  the  trembling, 
excited  girl. 

Yes,  it  was  Vance,  arrived,  it  seemed,  just 
in  time  to  turn  the  balance  in  favor  of  im- 
periled friends. 

The  horses  leaped  forward  at  the  crack  of 
the  whip.  Speeding  down  the  road,  Le 
Britta  ventured  a  look  backward. 

"They  are  following  —  the  other  carriage  !" 
he  ejaculated. 

"They  shall  never  overtake  us,"  muttered 
the  resolute  driver.  "  Gladys,  courage  !  We 
are  free  at  last !  " 

Gladys  uttered  a  joyful  cry  at  her  lover's 
cheering  tones.  With  eye,  hand  and  whip, 
Vance  urged  forward  the  mettled  steeds. 

Suddenly  he  brought  them  to  a  halt,  that 
jarred  the  vehicle  in  every  spring. 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  called  out  Le 
Britta,  apprehensively. 

"Blocked." 

"How?" 

"No  bridge.  See  !  the  river  —  the  shore 
—  but  the  bridge  is  down." 


"Why?" 

"  We  have  taken  the  wrong  road." 

"And  they  are  in  pursuit !  " 

"  Shall  we  make  a  stand  ?" 

"  Unarmed  ?     It  would  be  folly." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Vance,  suddenly.  "  Here 
is  a  road." 

He  directed  the  horses  down  a  rough, 
rutty  side-road.  He  halted  a  second  time, 
dismayed,  however,  for  the  horses  reared  and 
plunged  as  they  were  met  by  a  formidable 
heap  of  brush  piled  up  directly  in  their 
course. 

"  No  thoroughfare  !  "  murmured  Le  Britta. 

"  Then  we  must  make  a  stand  and  fight  for 
it,"  announced  young  Vance,  determinedly. 

He  had  sprung  from  the  carriage  seat,  and 
now  tore  open  the  door  of  the  vehicle. 

Gladys  sprang  to  his  arms  like  a  fluttering, 
frightened  dove. 

"Oh,  Sydney!  I  fear,  I  tremble!"  she 
panted. 

"  They  shall  never  tear  you  from  my  side 
again  !  "  spoke  Vance,  resolutely. 

"The  lamp  —  extinguish  it!  That  has 
guided  those  men  after  us,"  ejaculated  Le 
Britta,  suddenly. 


342 

"  Too  late  !  they  are  coming  this  way,"  re- 
plied Vance. 

Down  the  road  three  forms  were  indeed 
speeding.  Durand  and  his  two  villainous 
adherents. 

Hot  on  the  chase,  they  had  located  their 
prey,  whom  the  taking  of  a  wrong  road  had 
led  into  a  trap. 

"  Vance,  quick  !  look  here !  "  spoke  Le 
Britta,  hurriedly. 

He  had  been  investigating  their  surround- 
ings, and  not  ten  feet  down  a  shelving  bank 
he  discovered  the  river  rolling  swiftly. 

The  young  man  was  by  his  side  in  an 
instant. 

"  The  river !  "  he  cried,  with  a  start.  "  I 
could  swim,  but  she  —  ah !  a  raft,  look  !  " 

With  a  glad  cry  he   returned   to  Gladys 
He  hurried  down  the  bank. 

Moored  there  was  a  rude  raft,  and  across 
it  lay  a  pole.  Young  Vance  estimated  the 
distance  across  the  stream.  It  was  not  far, 
but,  with  some  apprehension,  he  noted  the 
swift  central  current  of  the  river. 

"  They  are  coming,"  announced  Le  Britta, 
gazing  down  the  road. 

"  Gladys,  here,  quick  !  aboard  !  " 


343 

"  Oh,  Sydney  !  it  rocks  —  is  it  safe  ?  " 

"  It  is  our  only,  our  last  resource,  my 
friend,  Le  Britta  " 

Vance  untied  the  rope,  secured  the  raft 
to  a  tree,  and  siezed  the  pole.  He  tried  to 
hold  the  rude  craft  stationary  for  the  photog- 
rapher to  join  him. 

At  just  that  moment  their  pursuers  came 
up  to  the  spot.  Durand  sprang  boldly  down 
the  slope. 

"Rush  on  them!  seize  Vance,  secure  the 
-irl !  "  he  raved,  excitedly. 

"  Back,  stand  back  !"  ordered  Le  Britta. 

He  had  seized  a  branch  of  a  tree  lying  on 
the  beach.  This  he  swung  about  his  head, 
keeping  the  plotter  momentarily  at  bay. 

"  Pole  out,  never  mind  me  !  "  he  shouted 
to  his  friends  on  the  raft. 

There  seemed  no  need  of  the  injunction. 
The  raft  had  floated  from  shore,  the  rope 
once  untied.  Just  as  it  was  drawn  into  the 
central  current  of  the  stream,  a  cry  of  alarm 
rang  across  the  still  waters. 

"  Mercy  !  "  gasped  the  petrified  Le  Britta. 

The  branch  with  which  he  had  kept  Durand 
at  bay  dropped  from  his  nerveless  fingers,  and 


344 

the  latter,  like   himself,   abandoned  the 

flict  to  watch  the  raft  in  mid-stream. 

In  that  mad  swirl  of  waters  the  guiding 
oar  had  been  suddenly  swept  from  Sydney 
Vance's  grasp.  At  the  complete  mercy  of 
the  rushing  vortex,  the  raft  circled,  toppled, 
swept  wildly  forward. 

Le  Britta  could  see  the  terrified  Gladys 
cling  to  her  lover.  The  face  of  the  latter 
was  white  with  anxiety. 

"They,  are  lost!"  rang  from  the  lips  of 
Durand  as  he  ran  down  the  shore,  all  heed- 
less of  Le  Britta,  to  keep  the  imperiled 
refugees  in  sight. 

"The  falls!"  echoed  the  tones  of  one  of 
his  fellow-plotters  from  the  embankment 
above.  They  are  doomed  !  " 

A  groan  of  horror  burst  from  Le  Britta's 
lips.  He  saw  the  raft  whirl  around.  It  was 
borne  out  of  sight,  it  seemed  to  dip,  it 
shot  past  an  intervening  rock,  and  when  it 
appeared  beyond,  making  fast  and  furious  for 
the  falls,  the  brave  lover  of  Gladys  Vernon, 
the  beautiful  orphan  heiress  herself,  had 
been  swallowed  up  by  those  dark  waters ! 


345 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

NEARING  THE  END. 

"  WHY  !  where  are  the  folks  ?  " 

Jera  Le  Britta  asked  the  question  in  a  tone 
of  profound  surprise,  one  morning,  two  days 
after  the  occurrence  of  the  tragic  events  at 
the  riverside. 

His  face  was  pale  and  anxious,  his  man- 
ner grave,  haunted  with  the  grief  and  uncer- 
tainty that  comes  from  solicitude,  care  and 
disappointment,  and  he  had  just  reached  his 
home  door-step,  and  had  peered  through  the 
open  windows  to  find  the  usual  joyous 
laughter  of  the  little  ones  absent,  the  happy, 
gentle  face  of  his  beloved  helpmate  nowhere 
in  sight. 

A  servant  had  met  him  with  a  welcoming 
grin. 

"  Mrs.  Le  Britta  and  the  children  have 
gone,  sir,"  was  her  reply  to  the  photograph- 
er's quick  query. 

"Gone?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Where?" 

11  To  a  picnic.     The  doctor  and  Miss  Maud 


346 

would  take  them.  They  have  gone  to 
Pomme-de-terre  cliffs.  They  didn't  expect 
you  home,  sir." 

Le  Britta  smiled  a  trifle  sadly.  He  pur- 
sued his  inquries  sufficiently  to  know  just 
where  he  would  find  them,  he  brushed  up  his 
rather  disordered  attire,  proceeded  to  a  livery 
stable,  and  was  soon  speeding  down  a 
smooth,  broad  road,  intent  on  joining  the 
loved  ones  in  their  brief  summer  outing. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  but  Le  Britta's 
heart  was  scarcely  in  harmony  with  its  peace- 
ful loveliness. 

A  deep  sadness  haunted  his  heart,  a  fer- 
vent grief  racked  his  thoughts.  After  all  his 
earnest  efforts  to  aid  Gladys  Vernon,  it 
seemed  as  if  fate  had  ordained  a  terrible 
destiny  for  the  poor,  persecuted  child  of 
fortune. 

For  that  scene  at  the  riverside  had  found 
a  most  tragic  ending.  Running  down  its 
shores,  endeavoring  to  keep  in  sight  the 
rushing  raft,  the  surface  of  the  stream,  in 
appalled  horror,  the  photographer  had  ar- 
rived at  the  falls,  to  see  the  frail  craft  dashed 
to  pieces  on  the  rocks  below,  and  its  late  un- 
fortunate occupants  nowhere  in  view. 


347 

Everything  was  forgotten  in  the  disaster 
of  the  hour.  Durand,  white  to  the  lips  with 
dread,  sought  side  by  side  with  the  anguished 
Le  Britta  for  some  trace  of  the  missing  lov- 
ers. Long  before  dawn,  every  member  of 
the  searching  party  had  decided  that  the 
bodies  of  the  refugees  had  been  swept  miles 
away  down  the  turbulent  river,  below  the 
falls. 

Durand  disappeared  ere  Le  Britta  could 
find  heart  to  condemn  him  for  all  his  plotting 
and  cruelty  that  had  availed  his  wicked  soul 
naught,  but  had  brought  death  to  two  loving 
creatures. 

All  the  next  day  Le  Britta  sought  vainly 
for  some  trace  of  them,  and  then,  over- 
whelmed with  grief,  he  proceeded  to  Haw- 
thorne villa,  acquainted  Gladys'  friends,  the 
lawyer  and  the  doctor  with  the  details  of  the 
tragedy,  and  returned  sadly  homeward. 

Little  heart  had  he  in  festivity,  but  he  felt 
that  he  needed  the  sympathy  of  a  loving  wife 
and  friend  amid  his  dark  sorrow.  He  drove 
along  the  smooth  country  road  toward 
Pomme-de-terre  cliffs,  realizing  gravely  that 
his  efforts  in  behalf  of  the  wronged  and  perse- 


348 

cuted   victims    of  crime   had    failed    of  one 

tangible  result. 

"  Gladys  and  Vance  dead,  Durand  free,  the 
fortune  gone  ! "  he  murmured,  depressed  and 
sad.  "  It  ends  the  case  in  gloom  and  dis- 
aster." 

Pomme-de-terre  cliffs  was  a  typical  picnic 
ground.  The  bluffs,  the  river  and  grand 
alternations  of  forest  and  plain  made  it  doubly 
attractive,  and  even  at  a  distance  the 
thoughtful  Le  Britta  could  make  out  gay 
little  parties  of  pleasure-seekers.  At  last, 
near  the  old  rustic  mill  at  the  river  he  caught 
sight  of  a  familiar  dress,  a  pretty  blending  of 
blue  and  amber  he  had  often  admired  on  his 
charming  helpmeet.  He  drove  the  horse  to 
a  shady  grove,  dismounted,  and  approached 
the  cool  spot  near  the  river. 

"  Jera,  old  friend  !  " 

"Dick!"  exclaimed  Le  Britta,  turning 
sharply  as,  making  his  way  toward  the  river, 
he  was  suddenly  challenged. 

Dr.  Richard  Milton  grasped  Le  Britta's 
hand  heartily.  His  keen  eyes  scanned  his 
friend's  face,  penetratingly. 

"  You  have  bad  news,  Jera,"  he  remarked. 
"  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes." 


349 

'  Yes,  Dick,"  replied  the  photographer, 
gloomily,  "the  very  worst  news,  but  it  must 
not  distress  the  little  ones  and  our  friends 
yonder.  I  have  no  right  to  bring  gloom 
upon  their  enjoyment." 

"  You  must  tell  me,  all  the  same,"  persisted 
the  doctor  ;  and  forthwith  he  led  his  friend  to 
a  grassy  knoll,  where  Le  Britta  soon  related 
all  liis  tragic  story. 

Doctor  Milton  listened  with  a  grave,  start- 
led face.  He  could  not  conceal  his  deep  dis- 
tress and  agitation  when  the  photographer 
had  concluded  his  graphic  recital. 

"Too  bad!"  he  commented,  "for  I  was 
just  beginning  to  see  some  very  bright  light 
on  a  very  dark  subject." 

"Concerning  this  same  theme?" 

"The  Vernon  case?     Yes." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Dick?" 

"  You  remember  the  tramp  ?" 

"Dave  Wharton?     Yes." 

"And  his  daughter?  " 

"  Poor,  brave  child  !  I  can  never  forget 
her." 

"  You  know,  when  you  left  me,  I  promised 
to  look  after  them  ?  " 

"  Which,  of  course,  you  did." 


350 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  could  not  spare  the  time  to  go 
to  the  deserted  cabin  where  they  lived,  and  I 
removed  them  nearer  home,  near  here,  in  a 
pleasant  cottage,  in  fact." 

"Always  kind  as  ever  to  the  poor  in  dis- 
tress, Dick  ! "  murmured  Le  Britta,  earnestly. 

"The  little  one  fascinated  me  with  her  pa- 
tience and  affection.  I  fancied  I  might 
operate  and  restore  her  sight.  At  all  events, 
the  serious  illness  of  her  father  called  for 
grave  attention  —  I  removed  them,  as  I  say." 

"And  the  tramp?" 

"  Got  decidedly  better.  I  went  to  the 
cottage  one  day  to  witness  a  touching  scene. 
The  little  child  was  kneeling  by  his  bedside 
praying  for  him,  and  he  was  in  tears.  I 
thought  it  a  good  time  to  tell  him  all.  I  did 
so.  I  made  him  realize  all  you  had  done  for 
him  ;  I  made  him  comprehend  the  importance 
of  his  proving  Ralph  Durand  the  murderer 
of  old  Gideon  Vernon.  From  that  moment, 
he  seemed  a  changed  man.  Thoughtful, 
silent,  he  would  mysteriously  say  when  I 
broached  the  subject  of  the  missing  fortune  : 
'  Wait  till  Mr.  Le  Britta  comes  back.'  One 
day  he  disappeared,  to  return  two  days  later. 
Since  then,  he  has  been  in  a  feverish  state 


35' 

of  excitement  to  see  you.  Your  folks  wanted 
an  outing,  and  I  brought  them  here.  The 
blind  child  and  her  father  are  with  them  in 
the  grove  yonder.  I  am  curious  to  learn 
what  revelations  Wharton  has  to  make  to 
you,  for  I  believe  that  they  are  important, 
and  refer  to  the  Vernon  case." 

"Alas!"  murmured  Le  Britta,  brokenly, 
"of  what  avail  are  revelations,  now  that 
Gladys  and  Vance  are  both  dead  !  " 

He  accompanied  the  doctor  to  the  little 
group  near  the  river,  however.  There  was  a 
hearty  greeting,  and  it  was  only  after  wife 
and  children  and  pretty  Miss  Maud  had  over- 
whelmed him  with  anxious  questions  that  he 
found  time  to  speak  to  the  little  blind  girl. 

Her  angelic  face  lit  up  with  delight  at  his 
friendly  tones.  Her  father  looked  like  a  new 
man  in  proper  clothing,  with  the  signs  of  his 
former  dissipation  vanished  from  his  face,  as, 
gravely,  anxiously,  he  said : 

"  Mr.  Le  Britta,  I  wish  to  speak  to  you 
confidentially." 

Le  Britta  led  the  way  from  the  spot. 

"  It's    about    the    treasure,    the     hundred 

thousand   dollars,"  spoke  the  tramp;   "you 

•• 
see    


352 

There  was  an  interruption.  As  he  spoke 
a  wild  form  dashed  through  the  trees  across 
their  path. 

It  was  that  of  a  girl,  young,  pale,  beautiful. 
With  a  terrified  shriek  she  ran  toward  them, 
clasping  her  hands  piteously,  gazing  back  as 
if  apprehensive  of  pursuit. 

"Save  me!"  she  cried,  wildly,  "oh,  save 
me!" 

Jera  Le  Britta  recoiled  as  he  regarded  the 
forlorn  figure  before  him. 

For,  wonder  of  wonders,  the  dead  come  to 
life,  the  grave  robbed  of  its  victim,  it  was- 

GLADYS    VERNON  ! 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

RETRIBUTION. 

"  SAVE  me !  ''  repeated  the  frantic  Gladys 
Vernon,  and  then  recognizing  Le  Britta,  she 
tottered  back  to  a  tree,  and  stood  there, 
dumfounded. 

"  Miss  Vernon  !  "  gasped  Le  Britta,  "  I 
thought  "- 

"  I  was  dead  ?  drowned  !  yes  !  yes  !  "  in- 
terrupted Gladys,  incoherently,  "but  we  es- 


353 

caped  the  flood  by  gaining  the  rocks  in  the 
center  of  the  river  near  the  falls.  But  he  is 
hurt  —  he  is  in  peril  !  " 

"He?  whom?"  queried  Le  Britta,  curi- 
ously. 

"Sidney  —  Mr.  Vance.  That  man — do 
not  let  him  take  me  —  help." 

"Hello!" 

There  was  a  crash  in  the  wood,  and  a 
form  burst  into  view,  panting,  excited, 
evil-eyed. 

With  the  startled  ejaculation  the  new- 
comer, Ralph  Durand,  stared  at  Le  Britta. 

"  You  here  ! "  he  scowled,  darkly ;  "always 
the  marplot  of  my  destiny  !  That  girl !  She 
is  my  legal  ward.  I  demand  her  possession." 

*'  Never  !  "  cried  Le  Britta,  placing  a  shel- 
tering arm  about  the  pale  and  terrified 
orphan. 

"We  shall  see!"  raved  Durand.  "Ah! 
you  have  friends.  So  have  I,  and  they  are 
within  call.  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

About  to  utter  a  signal  to  his  boasted 
friends,  evidently  at  a  near  distance,  Ralph 
Durand  started  back,  as  Le  Britta's  com- 
panion advanced  toward  him. 


354 

His  eyes  fixed  steadfastly  upon  his  face, 
the  tramp  uttered  the  ominous  words  : 

"  At  last !     You  are  the  man  !  " 

At  the  same  time  he  put  forth  a  hand,  as 
if  to  seize  the  ruffian. 

"Eh?  What's  this  gibberish?"  scowled 
Durand. 

"  I  say,  you  are  the  man  /  " 

"What  man?" 

"The  murderer  of  old  Gideon  Vernon! 
Mr.  Le  Britta,  I  solemnly  assert  that  I 
identify  this  man  as  the  assassin  of  the 
master  of  Hawthorne  villa.  Seize  him  !  Do 
not  allow  him  to  escape  !  " 

At  the  ringing  words  of  the  tramp,  Ralph 
Durand  recoiled.  Pale  as  death,  he  regarded 
\Vharton  with  apprehension. 

"  What  mummery  is  this  ?  "  he  choked  out. 

"  No  mummery,  Ralph  Durand,"  spoke  Le 
Britta,  sternly.  "  Our  friend  speaks  the 
truth.  Providence  has  destined  this  strange 
meeting,  for  this  man  was  a  witness  to  the 
tragedy  that  robbed  Gideon  Vernon  of  his 
life." 

"It  is  false!" 

"  It  is  true  !  " 

Ralph  Durand  had  recoiled  step  by  step. 


355 

This  accusation  meaning  peril  and  arrest, 
caused  him  to  momentarily  forget  the  object 
of  his  intrusion. 

"  Hold  on  !  You  do  not  get  away  so 
easily,"  spoke  the  tramp,  springing  in  his 
path. 

"Stand  back!" 

"No,  you  are  my  prisoner — an  assassin. 
You  shall  answer  to  justice." 

"I  will  not!" 

There  was  a  quick  struggle.  No  equal  in 
his  weak,  unnerved  condition  for  the  swarthy 
Durand,  the  tramp  was  sent  reeling  back 
from  the  conflict. 

"  Horrors  !  "  ejaculated  LeBritta,  as,  simul- 
taneously, there  echoed  forth  the  sharp  report 
of  a  fire-arm.  "  He  has  killed  him  !  " 

He  glanced  apprehensively  at  the  prostrate 
Wharton,  and  then  at  the  smoking  revolver  in 
Durand's  hand.  Had  the  miscreant  added 
another  crime  to  the  long  list,  as  a  fit  finale  to 
his  career  of  wickedness  ? 

No,  for  Wharton  regained  his  feet  unhurt, 
but  Durand,  with  a  frantic  cry  of  pain  and 
alarm,  reeled  where  he  stood,  toppled  and 
fell  prone  to  the  earth. 


356 

"What  has  happened?"  panted  the  terri- 
ned  Gladys. 

"Retribution!"  pronounced  a  solemn 
voice,  and  Dr.  Richard  Milton  appeared  on 
the  scene. 

"  Dick  ! "  murmured  Le  Britta. 

"  I  witnessed  the  appearance  of  this  man. 
I  hastened  hither.  He  is  Ralph  Durand  !  " 

"Yes." 

"  He  has  met  his  doom." 

"Why"- 

"  Do  you  not  see?  In  drawing  a  weapon 
to  resist  our  friend,  Wharton,  he  exploded  it 
accidentally.  Swearing  will  do  you  no  good, 
my  man,"  added  the  doctor,  kneeling  beside 
the  prostrate  Durand,  who  was  raving 
wildly.  "You  had  better  be  thinking  of 
your  sins,  instead  of  adding  to  their  enor- 
mity." 

"Will  I  die?"  quavered  the  shuddering 
craven. 

Doctor  Milton  examined  a  gaping  wound 
in  the  chest. 

"There  is  no  use  in  deceiving  you.  Your 
hours  are  numbered,"  spoke  the  doctor, 
gravely.  "  Make  your  peace  with  earth  and 
'heaven,  for  you  will  not  survive  an  hour." 


357 

A  frightened  expression  came  into  the 
wounded  man's  face  at  this  statement.  All 
the  defiance  and  rascality  of  his  nature  seemed 
to-ebb  to  the  most  cowardly  shrinking,  as  he 
found  his  feeble  strength  pitted  against  that 
of  the  grim  destroyer,  death. 

It  was  only  when  Le  Britta  began  to  talk  to 
him  that  he  became  more  calm.  As  the 
honest-hearted  photographer  depicted  his 
evil  deeds,  the  results  of  their  enactment,  the 
possible  restitution  within  his  power,  the  evil 
face  broke  in  the  intensity  of  its  malignant 
hate. 

He  began  to  whimper,  he  sobbed,  he  broke 
down  utterly,  and  then,  reluctantly,  with  late 
atonement  for  his  evil  deeds,  he  admitted  the 
truth  of  the  tramp's  testimony,  and,  in  the 
presence  of  witnesses,  acknowledged  the 
fearful  crime  that  had  robbed  old  Gideon 
Vernon  of  his  life. 

Gladys  shrank  in  horror  from  him,  the 
others  regarded  him  as  a  monster.  Le  Britta 
alone  strove  and  pleaded  with  that  wicked 
spirit  in  its  last  hour  of  earthly  experience. 

He  prayed  fervently  for  the  soul  speeding 
its  way  unshriven  to  the  Creator  whose  laws 
it  had  violated  ;  he  tried  to  make  Durand 


realize  what  he  owed  of  penitence  and  sub- 
mission and  penalty  to  outraged  justice. 
Saint  and  sinner,  thus  they  remained  until 
Doctor  Milton  touched  his  friend  on  the  arm, 
whispering  softly  : 

"  He  hears  you  no  longer — he  is  dying." 

Thus  passed  away  the  man  who  had  caused 
so  much  woe  to  many  human  hearts,  in  his 
last  moments  revealing  the  fact  that  the 
secret  he  held  over  Gideon  Vernon  was  a 
forged  note,  purporting  to  have  been  exe- 
cuted by  his  dead  son. 

The  tramp  and  Doctor  Milton,  meantime, 
had  gathered  from  Gladys  the  story  of  her 
escape  from  the  island  in  the  river  with  her 
lover,  their  flight,  the  pursuit  by  Durand  and 
his  allies,  their  capture,  and  her  last  escape. 

They  went  with  her  to  the  mill,  and  there, 
guarded  by  Durand's  two  accomplices,  they 
found  Sydney  Vance,  a  bound  prisoner. 
He  was  soon  released,  and  the  two  men,  ac- 
quainted with  the  details  of  Durand's  doom, 
made  no  resistance  when  threatened  with  ar- 
rest if  they  did  not  accompany  them  to  the 
presence  of  Le  Britta. 

Like  a  judge  on  the  bench,  the  photogra- 
pher disposed  of  their  cases.  He  made  those 


359 

hardened  villains  blush  for  their  meanness  in 
persecuting  a  poor  orphan  girl.  He  showed 
them  how  their  sin,  discovered,  had  failed  of 
any  reward,  and  he  bade  them  appear  at  the 
inquest  the  next  day,  under  penalty  of  being 
arrested  for  their  share  in  dead  Ralph  Du- 
rand's  iniquitous  plots. 

There  were  no  further  festivities  that  day, 
for  the  tragic  occurrence  of  the  hour  had 
cast  a  gloom  over  the  little  company.  Then, 
too,  the  forlorn  condition  of  Gladys  and 
Vance  required  attention.  Their  wild  flight 
and  lack  of  rest  and  food  had  made  them  pale 
and  fatigued,  and  Le  Britta  insisted  on  an 
immediate  return  to  town. 

What  a  warm  welcome  the  desolate  Gladys 
received  from  the  gentle-hearted  Mrs.  Le 
Britta,  and  how  sisterly  and  kind  was  the 
sympathetic  Maud  ! 

That  night,  like  a  dove  returned  to  its  cosy 
home-cote  after  storm,  wreck  and  peril,  the 
beautiful  orphan  slept  as  serenely  under  the 
roof  of  the  happy  Le  Britta,  as  if  housed 
under  her  own  mother's  loving  care. 


360 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

WEDDING  chimes  ! 

Jera  Le  Britta  laid  down  the  book  he  had 
been  reading,  arranged  tie  and  gloves  at  a 
mirror,  and  prepared  to  descend  to  the  draw- 
ing-rooms of  Hawthorne  villa,  as  into  its 
open  windows  was  wafted  the  clear  silvery 
jangle  of 

"  Bells,  bells,  bells  !  wedding  bells, — 
What  a  world  of  happiness  their  melody  foretells  ! " 

Six  months  have  passed  since  the  day  that 
the  family  picnic  terminated  in  a  tragedy,  and 
strange  and  startling  events  have  occurred 
since  that  time. 

As  in  a  dream,  the  photographer  pausing 
on  the  broad  stairway  of  Gladys  Vernon's 
regal  home,  surveyed  the  throng  below,  re- 
flecting on  the  happiness  it  engaged  in',  and 
thanked  heaven  for  his  involuntary  part  in 
bringing  it  all  about. 

From  the  hour  that  Gladys  Vernon  became 
an  inmate  of  the  Le  Britta  home,  her  troubles 
seemed  to  dissipate. 

The  identification  of  the  tramp  of  Ralph 


3*1 

Durand  as  the  real  assassin  of  her  father,  the 
confession  of  the  villain  himself,  and  the  addi- 
tional testimony  of  his  two  cowardly  accom- 
plices, was  sufficient  to  clear  the  proud  name 
of  Sydney  Vance  of  every  stain  of  seeming 
guilt. 

The  world  knew  the  truth  at  last.  The 
world  impulsively  bestowed  the  hero's  crown 
on  the  brave,  single-hearted  man,  who,  for 
pure  love  of  his  fellow-beings,  had  risked  life 
and  fortune  to  rescue  a  friendless  orphan 
from  the  power  of  a  scheming  scoundrel. 

In  his  gentleness  of  soul,  Jera  Le  Britta 
could  not  but  forgive  Durand's  two  emissa- 
ries, and  with  an  impressive  warning  he  bade 
them  go  and  sin  no  more.  To  the  sinister 
Meredith,  however,  he  gave  a  stern,  condem- 
natory lecture  that  checked  his  rascality  and 
made  him  atone  for  the  crimes  he  had 
committed. 

The  culminating  point  in  the  entire  case 
was  the  final  revelation  of  Wharton,  the 
tramp.  It  was  the  production  of  the  missing 
hundred  thousand  dollars. 

His  explanation  was  simple.  The,  very 
night  that  Le  Britta  had  been  shut  up  in  the 
iron  vault  by  Darius  Meredith,  the  tramp 


had  surreptitiously  entered  the  place  and 
recovered  the  stolen  packet  of  which  he  had 
been  robbed. 

Six  months  past  by  in  straightening  out 
the  tangle  of  the  Vernon  fortune,  and  now, 
with  the  past  only  a  dark  memory,  with  the 
future  a  path  of  flowers,  illumined  with  golden 
sunshine,  Gladys  Vernon  was  about  to  wed 
the  man  she  so  devotedly  loved. 

That  afternoon,  Jera  Le  Britta,  an  hon- 
ored invited  guest,  had  taken  a  picture  at 
the  villa  that  was  to  be  a  rare  memento  of 
the  photographic  art,  as  well  as  a  treasured 
souvenir. 

It  showed  Gladys  in  fair  bridal  array,  it 
showed  brave,  stalwart  Sydney  Vance  by  her 
si4de,  proud  and  happy,  in  the  company  of  the 
one  woman  he  had  ever  loved.  The  tramp, 
the  new  Dave  Wharton,  purified  by  suffer- 
ing, open-faced  in  the  pride  of  reformation, 
was  a  lay  figure  in  the  background,  where 
also  lingered .  the  modest  Doctor  Milton, 
pretty  Miss  Maud  smiling  by  his  side. 

Le  Britta  was  compelled  to  officiate  at  the 
camera,  of  course,  so  he  was  represented  by 
his  beautiful  wife  and  two  loving  cherubs. 

And  in  the  foreground,  her  face  like  that  of 


363 

an  angel,  beaming,  grateful,  serene,  was  the 
little  blind  girl,  and  a  new  expression  in 
those  gentle  eyes  told  that  faithful  Doctor 
Milton's  patient  work  had  brought  a  result, 
and  she  saw  God's  blessed  sunlight  once  more, 
and  was  the  happiest  of  all  God's  blessed 
creatures,  in  all  the  wide,  wide  world,  that 
lovely  spring  morning  ! 

"  Oh  !  what  we  owe  you,  Mr.  Le  Britta  !  " 
murmured  Gladys,  as  she  placed  her  tremu- 
lous hand  upon  his  arm.  "See  what  your 
sacrifice  and  perseverence  have  wrought  — 
happiness  for  half-a-score  of  people.  We 
can  never  thank  you  ! " 

"  Not  to  me,"  replied  the  photographer, 
gravely,  "  but  to  heaven  we  must  be  grateful. 
Its  instruments  are  chosen  and  armed,  and 
wrong  will  always  be  crucified  in  the  end, 
right  must  triumph.  I  have  done  my  duty  — 
its  reward  makes  this  day  seem  like  the  days 
that  will  dawn,  never  to  fade,  beyond  the  gates 
that  are  ever  ajar  !  " 

Wedding  bells  ! 

How  they  rang  out.  How  they  echoed  in 
the  ears  of  the  joyful  coterie  of  friends,  who. 
at  eventide,  bade  happy  Gladys  Vance  a 
brief  adieu  ! 


364 

The  heart  of  Jera  Le  Britta  was  too  full 
for  utterance  as  they  drove  homeward  in  the 
gloaming. 

Victory  had  crowned  his  efforts,  success 
promised  in  the  practical,  every-day  life 
ahead,  health,  prosperity  and  happiness 
were  his. 

To    work  with  men,  to  work  for  men  - 
what  a  glad  existence !     To  better  the  con- 
dition of  humanity   in  his  daily   tasks,  how 
calm,  how  radiant  the  results  ! 

Pinion-poised,  across  their  path,  as  he  re- 
flected, a  lark  sprang  from  the  heather. 

Up  it  arched,  flying  straight  into  the  face 
of  the  calm  and  holy  stars.  So  the  soul  of 
the  thinker  seemed  to  soar  to  higher  life,  to 
nobler  ambitions  and  impulses. 

He  followed  the  quick  flight  of  the  bird. 
It  seemed  a  promise  for  the  future,  a  lesson 
from  the  past. 

For,  amid  the  glory  of  the  spangled  night, 
the  lark  seemed  singing  at  the  gates  of 
heaven  ! 

THE    END. 


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